


We're All Going Together

by IlanaNight



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Curses, Immortality, M/M, Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IlanaNight/pseuds/IlanaNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mischievous grin on his face, one would never take Captain Bill Cipher for anything less than a charmer, a man without a care in the world. Beloved by his crew, he had the life any Captain could ask for.</p><p>If it weren't for the fact that he was doomed to live it again and again, for all eternity. Doomed to lose each and every one of them, to lose every person close to heart and live on with only the memories of their faces.</p><p>Captain Bill Cipher has learnt not to love, not to care any more than he absolutely has to. It's easier that way, he tells himself, better not to make ties he will inevitably have to cut.</p><p>How could he know that a cartographer would catch his eye, and rip that plan out from under him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Loved and Lost

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to pirate hell!!! i'll be writing this fic for nanowrimo and likely continuing into december because november is a busy month with show dates and holidays and what not. but hello yes this is my new project. we're starting off with a prologue for some context, and then i'll throw us further into hell <3

“You must promise, Anya, that you’ll never fall for a navy man. They’re married to their ships, they have no time for another woman in their lives. You’ll only set yourself up for heartache.”

 

That was what her mother had told her when she was but fourteen, and she had laughed then, and made a promise. The shipmen that came through down were too loud, too harsh, too crude. She could never fall for one of them, could never want to earn their love. They could keep their ships, she wanted no part in it all.

 

_1714_

 

Until the dark-stained ship with its black and gold flags took port, its crew picking up rooms at her family’s inn. The majority were as loud as ever, though with a darker sort of tone to them, a mischief and mystery that equally intrigued and frightened her.

 

It was the captain of the vessel, though, who caught her eye. Russet-brown skin and honey hazel eyes framed by long hair tied back behind his head, only the front locks allowed to curl by the side of his face. He cut a slim figure in his white shirt and black pants, boots clicking softly against the wood floor of the inn as he slid the gold across the counter, a smile on his face.

 

“I do hope we don’t cause you any inconvenience, good lady.”

 

Lost as she was, she could only shake her head and thank him for the money, handing him the room keys and following him with her eyes as he made his way up the stairs, that same grin on his face.

 

The captain was the kindest man she’d ever met in all of her twenty three years, and his laugh was the brightest sound she’d ever heard. She made it her duty to bring his meals to him, taking them from the serving girl and bringing them up with a smile. And if she lingered a bit to talk to him, to see that smile for a little longer, who was going to comment on it?

 

Orchiló, that was his name. It fell from his lips like water and felt like honey in her ears. When she whispered it to her mirror that night, it felt like a name she wanted to say for the rest of her life.

 

Perhaps she should have listened to her mother.

 

Not a week after his coming, the captain and his crew were ready to leave. Only a week of conversations over meals, and of walks through town- Anya had been more than happy to guide the captain, anything for a chance to spend more time with him, to hear that laugh again- and he was ready to leave. She couldn’t believe her eyes when he returned the key to her and thanked her for her time.

 

“...Can’t you stay, Captain? You could… you could have a family here. You could be happy… Here. With… with me.” And maybe it was forward, but it was her only chance, the only argument she could make as he flashed her a sad smile.

 

“My dear, for a multitude of reasons, I could not. I am not fit to be a husband, and you are too fit to be my wife. Too kind for a man of my persuasions, and far more than I deserve. Your heart will do much better in softer hands, Anya.” But when he took her hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back of it, she was certain there were no softer hands in the world. “And besides that, I have a family to care for as it is. My crew are my world, Anya. I would not put anyone before them, and I would not be married to someone who was ever second-best.”

 

She slapped his hands away at that, tears of anger and deep hurt in her eyes as she turned away, “You would choose _them_ over a chance at a real family? At a home?”

 

Somber, the captain nodded, a frown touching his lips now, “I would. Every time.”

 

With that, he took his leave, hat in his hands as he bowed out, concern still written in his face as he waved one final goodbye, which Anya did not return.

 

Swift feet took Anya up the back paths to the cliffs that overlooked the port. Even from here, she could make out his ship, the sails already hoisted and the black flag flying. She looked down at it with vengeful disdain, tears still staining her cheeks as she bit her lip hard enough to split the skin, drawing blood.

 

Salt and iron in her mouth, she spat and cursed the captain, vindictive glee in her voice, “Every time, you say? I hope you _meant that,_ Captain. Because you’ll have to live through it.”

 

She stood on the cliff, dress and hair billowing in the sea breeze, until the ship was out of sight, sailing over the horizon to somewhere far away.

 

The Captain would pay for turning her away, for choosing the sea over her love. Her mother had taught her more than wisdom, after all. And she would not be lightly forsaken.

 

A candle flickered in the center of the circle, drawn in her own blood. At the base of the candle sat the ring the Captain had left with her, a gift in return for her help in aiding him through the city, he’d said. He’d slipped it off his finger and dropped it in her palm as if the gesture were nothing, as if that didn’t speak of promises he was bound to break.

 

No matter now, that ring would give her exactly what she needed to complete her work.

 

Anya chanted softly in tongues, pulling on an old power that ran in her blood, one that her mother had warned against using too often. It ate at a person, she had said, left them empty, their soul poured out into blood magic and spent on hatred. Curses burned two souls, her mother has said, the attacker and the receiver, and Anya had stared up at her with fear then, not wanting to consider what that would do. She’d promised not to curse anyone, not to hurt herself in that way.

 

It seemed she was breaking a great many promises to her mother, these days. But whatever wound the curse left on her soul, it was worth it. Her heart was already stolen, ripped from her chest, what value did her soul hold?

 

_A lifetime I offered,_   
_A lifetime of love_   
_It was, you returned,_   
_A life you dreamt not of_

  
_Your crew is your family,_   
_You care for them well._   
_How will you fare_   
_When you cannot hear the bell?_

  
_It calls for their drowning,_   
_It calls for their death._   
_But you will not hear it,_   
_Still you will draw breath._

  
_Again and again,_   
_The ocean it claims._   
_Though never the sirens_   
_Will sing your name._

  
_Family loved and family lost_   
_Time and again,  
_ _Your heart is the cost._

_So mine you have taken,_   
_The ocean will too,_   
_Take your heart_   
_Through the lives of your crew._

  
_From now til the last_   
_Set of sun o’er the earth_   
_Your ships be damned_   
_To the ocean’s hearth._

  
_You alone shall bear the weight_   
_Alive forever, bound by my hate._   
  
_‘Til love too great to bear be found,_   
_You, good captain, are doomed to drown._   
_And rise again, your family gone_   
_Alone, to face the vengeful dawn._

Miles away, the ship out at sea, the Captain screamed out in his once-peaceful sleep, hazel eyes flashing gold as a burning sensation seared through his veins, hot and cold all at once before it ebbed as quickly as it had come, leaving an itch in his fingers and a pounding in his head.

 

It was the cries of his crew, though, that roused the captain from his bed, up to the decks that were swiftly flooding, water claiming men in droves and dragging them down with vindictive glee. The ocean, ever his kindly mistress, had betrayed him this night.

 

Even in the horror of drowning, the ship falling to pieces and leaving the crew to the icy waters of the Atlantic, did not strike the Captain too deep.

 

“Fear not… We’ll plunder far… better lands… in the life beyond, dear friends.”

 

It was with a smile that his eyes finally closed, the chill of the ocean setting into his limbs until he forgot where he was, forgot that he was dying. Death was peaceful, sweet, comforting, like coming home.

 

Darkness washed over him like a blanket and sensation faded away, lost to the sound of the waves and his own fading heartbeat.

 

His mouth tasted like salt water and blood, he’d never been more sore in his life. Sand scraped at his face and his clothes clung to him like a second skin, wet and cold. Honey gold eyes opened slowly to an unfamiliar beach, a port he’d never seen before, and horror struck the pit of his stomach.

 

Why wasn’t he _dead?_

 

 


	2. A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The passing of time is but the blink of an eye where eternity is concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand we're into the fic proper! timeline and everything <3

The floorboards of the ship creaked under his feet, worn by a decade of sailing, of feet trampling over them, of men pushed to the ground atop them, of blood spilt into their grains. Lives had ended on these planks, and lives had been saved. But that was how it always was, how it would always be.

 

And in the end, none of them could be saved.

 

A lantern swung in his left hand as he made his way down through the decks to the cargo bay. He stopped in the doorway of the crew’s quarters, hearing the soft breathing and sharp snores. All of them content in their beds, certain that their Captain would keep careful watch for them. Certain that he would lead them to a victorious end.

 

But there was no victory against the armada on the horizon, no victory but death. And he would not watch them all be cut to pieces, not again. Once had been enough for that, one time captured and hanged, left to dig himself out of a shallow grave and sob into the soil. Every man slaughtered, bleeding out on the dark-stained wood, staring up at him with pleading, glassy eyes.

 

The image had haunted him ever since, would likely haunt him always. And he was determined to never relive it.

 

Slow, methodical steps took him to the most carefully maintained cargo room on the ship, as close to air and water tight as it could be. Here, the gunpowder and cannon charges were stored, there was no room for those to be wet in case of an emergency. He prided himself on just how prepared he kept the ship for battle- when that battle was one that could be won, of course.

 

But he would not lose a soul to the prison ships, would not abandon a man to the dreaded fate of hanging, deprived of glory and the honour of a shared, watery grave. Davy Jones claimed all men whose bones drifted to the ocean’s floor, after all, and there in the afterlife would they feast together.

 

It was the kindest gift he could offer them, the most merciful end. No matter the pain and guilt it cost him.

 

Honey hazel eyes took one last look to the door of the cargo bay before flickering around the storage room. He’d said his goodbyes to the ship and her crew, played his piece. All that was left was to follow through with the rest.

 

Setting his lantern down, the captain walked over to the largest barrel of gunpowder, opening the lid with a somber expression on his face. He reached into the pouch at his waist, pulling out a matchbox and striking one, holding it over the barrel in his left hand.

 

_“Akana mukav tut le Devlesa…”_

 

And with that, he dropped the match, igniting the gunpowder and sparking an explosion that threw him backwards, searing his side and splitting the skin open, another layer of burns over old wounds as the one flame sparked a dozen others, the whole room aflame and the ship catching with it.

 

_1814_

 

The sound and sensation of the explosion roused the Captain from his sleep, a cold sweat on his face. The scars on his abdomen tingled with phantom pain, fire licking at their edges even now. His breath caught in his throat, just barely holding back the scream that threatened to escape, the ragged sound of guilt and pain and anguish.

 

It would do no good to concern his crew, and he could hear several of them on deck. A scream from his quarters was another worry they did not deserve. And one he would be unable to explain.

 

Sitting up, Bill ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face. He’d forgotten to braid it the night before, and it protested now, falling to his shoulders in unruly curls, coiling into the hollows of his collarbones and the space behind his ears. A roll of his shoulders and a crack of his neck loosened a bit of the tension there but nothing could shake the chill that had settled into his bones from the dream.

 

Or rather, from the memory.

 

His mouth twisted down into a grimace as he tore his nightshirt off and tossed it aside into his chest, revealing the gruesome burn scar across his torso, bursting out from his left hip to swallow most of his skin in pink, raised flesh that reflected light with an unhealthy sheen. It was inflamed this morning, perhaps in retribution for his memory, perhaps because in his thrashing the fabric of his sheets had irritated the scar tissue.

 

Either way, the reddened edges hissed at him, a dull itch that would be an annoyance but no more. His tolerance for pain was much higher than that.

 

Rising with a sigh, he knelt in front of his trunk, pulling out a folded white shirt and slipping it over his head, lacing the neck loose enough to breath while still maintaining some semblance of decency. The fabric settled over his slim form with more than enough room to move, the sleeves ruffling out around his elbows before coming tight at his wrists again.

 

Pants and a belt completed his simple outfit before he took his hair in his hands, drawing it up with some difficulty. Holding the long locks in one and, he grabbed a strip of fabric with the other, twisting it around the hair and tying it taut, the hair bound now in a tight, low bun at the base of his neck. Another brush of his hand to part the locks left hanging by the sides of his face and he looked presentable enough to face the day.

 

Out of habit, the captain sat at his desk, pulling a worn deck of tarot cards from a drawer and running his fingers over the rounded edges. Lifetimes ago his mother had given these to him when he left for his first seafaring journey, lifetimes ago he had promised to return them, lifetimes ago had he broken that promise.

 

Pulling the ribbon free of its bow, Bill shuffled the cards, the glossy paper soft and familiar against his skin as the cards fell into place before he dealt them out, not even bothering to look at the cards as he flipped them onto the table.

 

They had been the same for over one hundred years, after all, what was going to change them now?

 

The four most worn cards stared at him on the table in their usual spaces. His Past was defined by The Hanged Man upright, a half dozen lifetimes of sacrifices, of being held aloft while all that he loved was shaken free from his clutches. His Present, The World reversed, a reminder that he could not attain closure, could not stitch his heart from the deep wounds that cut him over and over. His Future, Death reversed, in irony and in loathing. Unable to die, unable to cut himself free from the memories that haunted him, unable to move on from his lifetimes of loss. And finally, his Fortune, his Fate, The Hermit reversed, a promise of an eternity of loneliness and isolation.

 

The cards had never lied to him, and today’s reading was no different.

 

Shuffling the cards again, he tied the ribbon around them with a tired sigh. No longer was he disappointed by the reading, he had accepted it. Now, all it did was exhaust him, the prospect of an eternity of those same four cards.

 

But he had a life to live right now, a ship to captain, and he could not be dwelling on the future.

 

Right on schedule, there was a sharp knock at his door, three raps of knuckles against wood.

 

“Land ho, Captain! Won’t you come and see it with us?”

 

Despite himself, Bill let a chuckle slip past his lips as he tossed his satchel over his shoulder before opening the door and bowing theatrically, a hand over his heart, “Forgive me, good lady Maryam. I had thought to steal but a moment’s more rest.”

 

Dark eyes glinted above a thin smirk and the Libyan woman shook her head at the Captain’s antics, pulling him up by his collar, _“You?_ Get a bit more _rest?_ Why, I’ll consider myself dead and in heaven when I see the day the shadows under your eyes don’t speak of being on the tail end of a rather nasty bar room brawl.”

 

Honey hazel eyes glinted with mischief at that, that same chuckle bubbling forth again as he put an arm around her shoulders for a moment before it was shrugged off, “Tell me, does the newborn country look as good as it hopes to be?”

 

“There are a good many trees from what can be seen, Captain. And more than a few navy ships about. They are at war, you know, and with the Empire, no less.”

 

Bill threw his hands to the sides with a practiced sort of nonchalance, “Tut. I care not for the world’s silly wars, so long as they do not interfere with my plans. If anything, they simply provide more chances to best those silly sailors at their own game, don’t you think?”

 

The first mate trailed after him with a sigh, indulgence clear on her face as they made their way up to the deck, sunlight filtering down, “You seem in a particularly _bright_ mood this morning, Captain. Is there a holiday I should be aware of?”

 

Facing away from her, Bill could let his grin falter for a moment before he pulled up the facade with ease, laughing again, “None that I know, dear Maryam, but is a landing not a thing to be celebrated? So long it’s been since we stepped ashore last, don’t you long for a day or two on land? A chance to walk among men and women alike, to see the world of normal men?”

 

“All I long for is a night away from your inane word games, Captain.”

 

“Tonight, you may get your wish, if all prevails.”

 

Maryam’s elbow caught his rib at that and she opened the door to the deck fully so that they could step out into the full light of day. Bill stepped out in front of her, hazel eyes trained on the horizon where land was visible indeed, not a day’s journey away. They would be in port and settled by nightfall.

 

A collection of flags flew in the port, though none of the Empire’s persuasion. Ships of her origin would have to conceal themselves here or risk sabotage. War made savages out of even the best of men, and no ship would be willing to expose themselves to that sort of attention. All here flew neutral flags, save the few American ships, tattered sails fluttering in the wind.

 

Bill had not set foot on the New World’s soil in a couple of decades. He knew better than to return to a place too often, lest someone remember his face and note that it had not changed. And the country had changed much since last he took port there.

 

Hell, when he’d last took shelter in an American inn, America had been only a whisper on the wind, a fool’s dream, a threat of treason. And now it was a country of its own, though, the war raging presently promised to bring an end to that, if the Empire quenched the New World’s flames.

 

Bill hoped that it didn’t. A new country meant new hope, and such a thing was hard to come by these days.

 

Standing at the helm, the sea breeze pushed his hair back from his face as the sun set, sparking on the water. The slightest hint of a smile touched his lips as he yelled down to the crew, hands cupped to his mouth.

 

“What do you lads say to feasting on land tonight?”

 

The chorus of cheers and hurried preparations was answer enough for the captain, who leant against the foremast with that same smile lingering on his face.

 

No hope for him existed in the New World, but that did not mean he would deprive his crew a stab at what might await them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my name is lani and i am GAY AS HELL for maryam designing her was my literal fav.
> 
> Translation for the Rromani line: “Akana mukav tut le Devlesa…” - I now leave you to God, a popular funeral speech closer.


	3. Extraneous Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The monotony of business matters is broken by an unexpected encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sleep is for the weak i scream as i look at the clock and note that i have a class in 6 hours.

Stepping onto land was always a jarring experience for the Captain. Everything was too stationary, too tethered to the ground. Without the lulling rock of the sea, everything seemed to be held in limbo.

 

It reminded him too much of his own existence to ever sit peacefully with him.

 

That did not mean, however, that he did not enjoy the time he spent on land. The world of men was always changing, and Bill missed quite a lot of it out at sea. Each time he returned to land there were new wonders to behold, an entirely new world, it seemed. It almost made living forever worth it, to see all of this progress, to watch it all unfold.

 

It almost overshadowed the emptiness at his core, the hollow carved out by decades of loss. Almost.

 

Pressing the thought from his mind, the Captain shrugged on a vest over his shirt, seated in the bed of the inn. One thing he would never disdain was the comfort of beds on solid ground. While he could not say he had slept soundly, at least his joints did not ache with their usual complaints and sorrows.

 

He had but simple business to attend to here, a restocking of provisions, and perhaps putting an ear out for where shipping routes might be faring, where a bit of smuggling- or stealing- could be done. Largely, this stop ashore was a leave for his crew, a chance for them all to stretch their legs and feel the ground beneath their feet. He kept them at sea too long, he knew, and would give them whatever time ashore he could afford.

 

Lacing up his boots, he made his way past the other rooms, noting that most doors were ajar, some of the crew sitting atop their beds and playing cards, others on their way out as well. And a good many were already out and about, no doubt, set to discover all of the city’s wonders. A few called out to him as he passed and he tipped his hat with a smile.

 

“I’ll join you all for supper. Duty calls, I am afraid.”

 

Boisterous laughter followed his words and the group of men playing cards waved him off, “Scared you’ll lose, Captain? No matter, we’ll show you fair tonight, and that’s a promise!”

 

Honey eyes rolled in their sockets and Bill laughed, mostly to himself before he turned back, a glint in his eye, “More scared I’ll leave _you lot_ penniless. And you’ll come for me in my sleep! But we shall see who comes out on top come evening, now won’t we?”

 

He sauntered off to the chorus of protests and fond insults, a smile lingering on his face. His words were all in jest, he feared not that his men would turn against him. The trust Bill put in his crew was more trust than he had for himself, more trust than he had for any other men on Earth. Anyone willing to follow him down to the depths of the ocean was more than worth his trust.

 

Despite the fact that they did not yet know their fate.

 

Not three feet out of the inn’s door and Bill was stopped again, this time by a hand at his elbow, tugging at his shirt. Looking to the side, he caught sight of Alphie, the boy staring up at him with bright eyes under his shock of red-brown hair.

 

“Any chance you’re lookin’ for someone to walk with ya, Captain?”

 

Not quite fifteen, the boy was full of hope and a horrid case of hero worship, if what Maryam told him was true. He was dear to Bill’s heart, a stowaway who the Captain had near adopted into the crew, tossing him up into the crow’s nest with a grin on his face.

 

Better here than home, the boy had said. And Bill had needed to hear no more.

 

Reaching over, the Captain ruffled Alphie’s hair, shaking his head with a rueful smile, “Business matters is all for me today, _chikni_ , and I doubt you want to tag along while I arrange for supplies. Go on, have your fun! The city’s a bustling place, don’t you want to see it all?”

 

“Don’t you?”

 

The words were laced with a bit of disappointment, though Alphie let go of his arm and smiled, albeit a bit sadly.

 

“Aye, and I will, fear you not. But today I must devote to baser matters. Perhaps, if you’re up to it, you can show me around tomorrow, tell me all that you find?”

 

Any sorrow was wiped from the boy’s face as he nodded, putting his hand to his head in a salute, “Of course, Captain! I’ll know all the city’s treasures by dawn tomorrow, and I’ll show you each and every one!”

 

And with that, Alphie was off, leaving Bill laughing softly in his wake. Not as many times as he could count on one hand had he met men with as much enthusiasm as the young boy. Perhaps it was that which so drew the Captain to the boy, made him want to protect Alphie in any way he could from the horrors of the world that surrounded him.

 

A difficult and near fruitless task, in his line of work, but at least the darkness of piracy did not seem to taint Alphie’s natural spirit.

 

Bill would miss each and every one of them when they were gone, would remember their faces and their names and their laughs for years to come, but there were some that would be branded into his heart, and the young boy was sure to be one. It struck a chord somewhere in his hollow chest, to think that one day Alphie’s bright blue eyes would be staring up at him in horror as flames flickered to their left and right, nightmare and memory meshed into one.

 

With a much grimmer expression than before, he set off on his way, letting his thoughts fall silent in favour of listening to the mindless chatter around him, hearing snippets of conversation here and there. Local gossip was good distraction, when it pertained to nothing he cared for.

 

A wedding in town the following week, whispers of the end of the great war, distaste over the naval regiment posted in the port, concerns of a pestilence in a nearby town. All information at once vital and trivial, details of lives he did not belong in, did not know, but which he noted nonetheless.

 

Sometimes it paid to notice the little things.

 

While Bill hated the monotony of haggling down prices for necessities and arranging delivery to his ship, at least it required enough of his focus to keep his mind from the darker thoughts that plagued him. If he was a bit harsher with the shopkeepers than their usual traveller, so be it. He would not return while they yet lived, after all.

 

The inane task swallowed near all of his daylight, but at least it left him free for their remaining days ashore, of which he intended to give at least two. No pressing arrangements called on his horizon for months yet, only the promise of more weeks at sea, more exploration and discovery, which, while dear to his heart, could dishearten his crew at length.

 

They deserved a well-earnt rest, after all.

 

Finished with his errands, the Captain’s feet followed the sea breeze back to the docks, down a different series of streets from whence he had came. The path he took this time was more peaceful, quiet and absent of the lamps and bright storefronts of the main roads. This part of town slept with the sun, not a soul abroad on the streets.

 

A lonely road to match his lonely soul, Bill could feel at peace here.

 

Of course, the nearer he came to the port, the more noises filtered in. Ships were always in motion, and with them came the sights, sounds, and smells of a shipyard. Fresh wood being cut for repairs, tar to hold the boards together, the slick smell of staining oils, sharp in his nose. Bill took a deep breath, letting it all wash over him in waves.

 

Every shipyard was different, and yet they were all the same.

 

Whistling softly to himself, he made his way across the docks to where his beauty was in port, her flags furled and her sails drawn up. Even from this distance, he could spot her, he would know her from a hundred leagues, he would wager.

 

It helped when he’d designed the same ship near a half-dozen times. A couple of models in and he’d fell in love with her design. She was a ship he could bear an eternity on, a ship he could lose and rebuild forever and still look on with tender affections.

 

And her name was _Majaris Kisaiya._

 

So wrapped up was he in his thoughts that he did not notice the young man barrelling down the docs, a portfolio clutched to his chest. One wrong step had them both sprawling, the brunet dropping his bag and groaning in despair as the papers fluttered out of it, strewn here and there by the wind.

 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think there’d be anyone out at this hour, I-I…” The young man stuttered, sitting up swiftly and offering the Captain a hand, much to Bill’s amusement. Laughing, he took the hand and pulled himself up with grace before leaning over and picking up the leaves of paper nearest him.

 

“Settle down, stranger. What puts you in such a hurry at this restful hour anywho?” Organising the pages, Bill caught sight of a couple of maps amidst the pencil sketches and pulled them to the front, eyeing them carefully. They were detailed, drawn with minute skill, and Bill handed them back with a curious look, “Are you a cartographer, perchance?”

 

The brunet opened his mouth to answer the first question but was caught in his tracks by the next, looking down at the maps with a sour expression as he took them back, “I thought myself one, and was one for a while. But the Navy decided there is no need for mapmakers and artists in a time of war, and so I shall have to find something else with which to feed myself.”

 

Collecting himself, the brunet smiled and offered Bill a hand to shake, “Well met, stranger. Thank you for helping me. Worthless scraps of paper or not, I’d hate to lose any of these.”

 

Taking the stranger’s hand, Bill shook it with a smile, shrugging his shoulders, “Made my night interesting, something new for a chance. I’m… quite fond of surprises, and quite hard to surprise. So praise to you for that.”

 

He took a step as if to leave, to walk around the brunet and continue on his way, but something stopped him, those maps flashing in his mind’s eye. Bill had been keeping his own records, but… having someone else along wouldn’t hurt…

 

Turning on his heel, he faced the stranger again, Bill’s hand extended in offer this time, “What would you say to feeding yourself through mapmaking for a more _private_ enterprise? A weight off my shoulders and a meal in your stomach, hmm?”

 

Shock registered on the brunet’s face, followed swiftly by confusion and a hint of suspicion, “I… don’t quite follow, I’m afraid.”

 

With his free hand, Bill gesture to the horizon, where the _Majaris Kisaiya’s_ masts were just barely visible, “A place on my ship, _that’s_ what I’m offering. I’ve made it my goal- among a myriad of others- to map the whole of the seven seas before the Devil stakes his claim on my soul. And that would be a _mite_ easier with someone else around to do the drawing.”

 

And now it was understanding and wonder that dawned on the young man’s face, a grin splitting his face, “Sir, oh, sir, I’d _love to._ More than anything…” He was quick to grab Bill’s hand in his excitement, brown eyes focusing on the ship before looking back to her captain, “Dipper Pines, amateur mapmaker at your service.”

 

A single shake of the hand and Bill removed his hat, bowing at the waist, “Captain will do, no ‘sir’s for me. And if you’re feeling friendly, the name’s Bill Cipher. Welcome to the crew, Mister Pines. I’m certain you’ll enjoy your time.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the descent into hell is steep
> 
> Rromani Translations:  
> chinki- son/young one ( a term of endearment )  
> Majaris Kisaiya- Saint's Treasure


	4. Silver Tongues Have Many Talents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was easier than expected, integrating the cartographer into his crew.

Seeing as the young man had no arrangements for the night, Bill saw fit to lead him back to the inn where his crew was staying. Best to introduce them as early as possible, to let the cartographer see what he was getting into before he dove too deep.

 

While the Captain was excited at the prospect of having someone so keen on maps aboard his ship, he would not go about kidnapping honest men willy-nilly. It caused more trouble than it was worth, unless they were men of wealth.

 

And the life of a scoundrel was not for everyone, after all.

 

A click of his tongue and a gesture of his head was all the warning Bill gave the young man before he began to walk, boots clacking against the cobblestone pathway lining the docks. His pace was swift, but the cartographer had long legs and was quick to catch up, pattering along beside him and clutching onto his portfolio.

 

So quick was their pace that it afforded no time for speech, that could all come when they’d reached the inn. Bill grew weary of the night and would rather be under wraps than out and about. Besides, he’d promised a game or two of cards, and it had been some time since he showed his hand at such things.

 

A round of cards and a drink or two might warm the cartographer to his crew, as well, and that would be all the better.

 

Tipping his hat to the innkeeper, Bill ushered Dipper in and made his way up the stairs, looking over his shoulder at the tall, nervous man, “Take a deep breath, man, you’re going to meet your new shipmates, not your raging in-laws. Contrary to popular belief, even _my_ crew doesn’t shoot on sight.”

 

Something about that statement gave the brunet a clue, Bill could see as it dawned on his face, that nervousness compounding as he worried the leather of the portfolio in his hands, the pair standing on the top landing of the stairs, laughter filtering down the hall from the crews’ rooms.

 

“S-so, si- I mean, Captain, what do you do? On your ship, that is?”

 

Bill’s laugh was laced with darkness when it spilled forth from his lips and he threw his hands wide, turning in a theatrical circle, “Why, all _sorts of things,_ Dipper Pines. Transport of rare and dangerous cargo, passenger ferrying, surreptitious warfare… All manner of duties, large and small! And all of them at a _reasonable price.”_

 

Such a hint was more than enough, surely, to tell the cartographer just what it was the Captain did. Here, too, under the brighter light of candles and frosted lamps, a couple of Bill’s scars were visible, more clues to place into the puzzle.

 

He could almost see the gears moving behind dark brown eyes, a smirk on the Captain’s face as he waited for realisation to dawn on the cartographer.

 

An arm around his shoulders, though, interrupted his thoughts, and Maryam’s voice drawled in his ears, amusement and indulgence clear, “Tell me, do you bring home many boys with that pretentious word play of yours, Captain? I can’t imagine it works well behind closed doors.”

 

Barking out a laugh, Bill took idle note of the flush on the young man’s cheeks before he turned his head to look his first mate in the eyes, one eyebrow raised, “More men than _you,_ o Maid of Chastity. A silver tongue serves more masters than one, after all.”

 

The woman mocked a gag, pushing Bill away and shaking her head in displeasure, “Please, spare me your base wit, have you no shame, Captain?”

 

“None, in faith. Surely you know that by now,” Bill grinned in the face of Maryam’s rolling eyes, flashing white teeth with a mischievous glint in golden eyes before he turned back to Dipper, gesturing to the man with a hand, “But, alas, my mouth serves another purpose tonight, and that is the purpose of introduction. No less fun, but a bit less _scandalous,_ in your eyes, at least. This, good lady Maryam, is Dipper Pines. Provided all goes well tonight, you’re looking at our new cartographer.”

 

Caught off guard by Bill’s easy comments and visibly flustered, the young man put his hand out a bit too late for courtesy, bowing his head, “N-nice to meet you, ma’am.”

 

It was Maryam’s turn to laugh as she took his hand in a grip strong enough to grind the bones together, shaking it once with a grin, “Well met, Pines. And it’s _Maryam,_ no shortenin’ to ma’am unless you want to be tossed overboard.”

 

The words were spoken with utter sincerity, though a smile lingered on her face, and a look of horror crossed the brunet’s voice before Bill reached over to clap his shoulder, “I’ve told you once, I won’t tell you again. Lighten up, kid. We’re pirates, not _cannibals.”_

 

And there it was, the marvelous reveal he’d wanted to give with pomp and circumstance, but naturally, Maryam had intruded on his fun. But the cartographer didn’t seem put off, at least, so perhaps he had pieced it together after all.

 

“Y-yeah well, if you ever decide to change that, I’d like due notice. I like not being eaten, thank you very much.”

 

Bill’s laugh intermingled with Maryam’s until Dipper’s joined in, nervous but good-natured. The Captain was pleased by the notion, he preferred men with humour to those who would simply let themselves be tossed around at the brunt of another’s jokes. It took thick skin, his line of work, and a good sense of humour went a long way.

 

“Hear that, Captain? No eating this one. Pity, too, he looks like he’d be a _real_ treat.” Bill laughed at her comment, letting it fall as if it were simply another note on human consumption, but the look Maryam flashed him told him otherwise, the little smirk on her face that spoke of knowing too much.

 

The slightest shake of head came in answer, something so small it could have been a tick, nothing that most people would notice, and Maryam’s eyebrow raised minutely, but she pursued the avenue no further.

 

Bill was certain that would change, though, when the man in question was out of earshot. She knew his preferences, after all, and was well-based in her suspicions. In the right mood, with the right amount of confidence, Bill might have brought a man like Dipper home, but tonight was no such night and Bill was far more interested in the man’s skill with a pencil than with his hands or his mouth.

 

His crew members were off-limits for such trysts, after all. Any more emotional connection than he already had was a liability, a deeper loss to be suffered when he inevitably watched them sink to the ocean’s murky depths.

 

Returning to his old topic of conversation, Bill began to walk down the hallway, coaxing Dipper to follow him simply by addressing him. If the cartographer wished to hear what he had to say, he would have to follow along. And follow he did.

 

“Tell me, are you not frightened by what I am, by what I do?”

 

Dipper’s shrug was uncertain, a frown on his face, “I’m certain you’ve killed people. You’ve raided ships and shores, too, I’m sure. So far the only difference between you and the Navy is that they’re given orders to do this, and you do it all on your own. If I could handle it then, I can handle it now.”

 

Surprised at the response, the Captain raised an eyebrow. While he wasn’t quite sure if the young man’s words rang true to his heart, the notion was almost impressive, heroic. Cute. “I like my bodies a good deal bloodier than your Navy boys do, Pines, but I’ll take you at your word. If you believe you can handle it, then come tomorrow morning I’ll swear you in.”

 

“Tomorrow morning? Is there a reason we can’t do it tonight? It’s just papers I have to sign, right? I can do that now.”

 

A snort escaped the Captain and he shook his head, raising an eyebrow at the taller man with amusement in the lines of his face, “Eager, are we? I’m afraid a part of the process does require the light of day. Or at least the presence of my crew, and I doubt you’ll be rousing a good many of them from their rooms at this hour. Many are yet asleep, more still preoccupied with fairer matters than this. And besides, I have a date to keep. I promised my men a game of cards, and a game of cards they shall have.”

 

The largest of the rooms they had rented was devoted to the game of cards, a half dozen men seated in a circle on the floor, the beds and side tables pushed to the edges of the room to give them room to sit comfortably. When Bill entered, Dipper in tow, the men waved in greeting, one even daring to give him a mock salute as he removed his hat and took a seat, insinuating himself into the circle and gesturing for Dipper to do the same.

 

“Gentlemen, _this_ is our new cartographer. Mister Dipper Pines. I trust you’ll all treat him well and kindly, now won’t you?”

 

Six pairs of eyes trained on the tall young man, looking him up and down as he nervously sat before  Dane smacked him across the back, the dark haired man giving Dipper a lop-sided grin, half of his mouth split high up his cheek and stitched back together in a semblance of a grimace, “‘Course, Cap’. Whatever ya want. We’re always good to the new boys ‘round here, ain’t we?”

 

The force of the blow nearly pushed Dipper forward where he was sitting across from Bill and the cartographer gave a short, nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair and trying to put on a brave grin. Bill would give him credit for at least making an attempt.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

 

“Oh, his _pleasure,_ well, that’s all we need, isn’t it, lads? Deal ‘im a hand, see how his pleasure fares after this!” The teasingly snide comment came from Bill’s left, a dirty blond man in his early twenties with rope burns scarring his neck, a near-death escape of his own, a slip away from the hangman’s noose. Slick, he went by these days, though by birth his name was something much more formal than that.

 

Dane, it seemed, was designated as the dealer and threw the cards out with lightening speed, explaining the rules to Dipper at the same time. It seemed the young man, for all his time aboard a Navy ship, had never taken it upon himself to join the shipmen in their games.

 

Or perhaps Navy men simply did not play the games they did, Bill would never know.

 

Along with the cards came the flask, passed around the circle as the men looked at their cards. Rather than the rum and grog that had filled it for the many months at sea, fresh ale filled the flask now, another advantage of being on shore. In the back of his head, Bill made a note to arrange for a couple of cases of finer spirits to be stowed onboard, for special occasions, as he took a long draught and wiped his mouth before looking back down at his cards with a blank face.

 

It would be a good game indeed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone needs to control bill he's a piece of trash  
> he's not even flirting this is just. him. stop him. control him.


	5. Blood and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joining a pirate ship's crew isn't as simple as signing on the dotted line.

Bill had left Dipper with the crew to finish up the game after he’d won a few rounds. Best to let the young man bond with the people he’d be spending the most time with, after all. And Bill had logistics of his own to work out, best accomplished in the privacy of his own room.

Privacy, of course, save for the presence of his first mate, lingering in his doorway.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, good lady? Ever you chide me for _my_ late nights, and yet here you are.”

Dark eyes rolled in his direction before she let herself in, perching on the arm of the chair nearest Bill’s bed as the Captain removed his boots, unlacing them and slipping them off his feet.

“I thought you might want to tell me of our newest crew member. You may have a penchant for picking up strays, but they don’t usually come with baby faces and sketch pads… unless you plan on taking them to bed, that is.”

Bill barked out a laugh, reaching over to shove at her shoulder, “If I wanted him for my bed, in my bed would he be, Maryam. Provided he was willing, of course.”

“Such good morals you have, Captain. A right _saint_ you are.” Sarcasm dripped from her words like blood from a blade, and the Captain reacted as such, a hand to his heart in mock pain, forcing a cough from his lips.

“How you wound me, dear lady. Have you no respect for me at all?”

Her smirk told her to be a liar, but she answered with a plain voice, no sign of deception but the glint in her eyes, “None at all, Captain.”

Flopping back onto the bed, Bill tossed his hand up to his forehead in a melodramatic sigh, “And to think, here I picked you for my first mate, thinking you the most loyal amongst my crew.” In a flash, his expression changed and he sat up again, pulling one leg up to his chest and resting his head atop his knee, “In faith, it was an impulsive decision. I crossed his path on the dock when I went to check on my treasure, quite literally, as he ran right into me. And I saw his handiwork on the maps, it’s quite exquisite.”

Maryam’s eyebrow raised as she listened, interest on her face, “You’ve drawn your own maps for quite some time, why did you decide you needed a cartographer now?”

A shrug tugged Bill’s shoulders up and down as he looked over at her, a smirk on his face, “Why does a lark choose one window over another to grace with his morning call? He needs no reason, and no reason have I. It will mean a bit more time spent out of doors for me, though, and perhaps that is what I need to chase off my melancholy.”

“If a little sun can solve your problems, Captain, we could take a simple voyage to the midline and back, leave you on an island and come back when we deem it long enough. But I doubt the solution is quite that simple,” Her eyes, while concerned, were still laced with mischief as she reached over to shove his shoulder.

Chuckling, Bill shrugged his shoulders again, this time in something akin to defeat, “You know me too well, Maryam. Too well indeed. But no matter my reasons, come sun-up he will have joined us, or ran for the hills. His choice.”

“I certainly hope he chooses wisely. The last thing we need is a tallow-face below decks, cowering at the sound of cannons.”

Humming, Bill nodded with a thoughtful expression on his face, “Only time will tell, I’m afraid. But we both know what happens to men who bite off more than they chew on the high seas. If she swallows him whole, so be it. Such is the way for those of us who sail under the black flag.”

A nod and a hand raised in mockery of a toast were Maryam’s response before she took her leave, lingering in the doorway for but a moment, “I await your call bright and early, Captain. And we will see if this boy you have chosen is fit to become a man onboard.”

The Captain nodded and waved as she closed the door behind her, leaving him free to change out of the day’s clothes and into looser night garments, the white fabric nearly falling off his frame as he slid it over his torso, covering the myriad of scars across his chest and the tattoo stretching from his neck to his hip across his back. Slim hands reached up to take his hair down from it’s bun, running a comb through the locks before he swiftly braided them tight to his head, to spare him the battle with his hair come morning.

The hour was far too early for him to sleep, but the captain laid down in his bed nonetheless, hands folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

The moon was high by the time sleep finally claimed him in its fitful grip, not deep enough to trigger his nightmares, but too shallow to give him any real rest.

Bill had chosen a room facing east for a reason, the sun’s earliest rays catching on his eyelids and rousing him from his sleep that was something more akin to a nap. Usually, he would languish from here, or sit at his desk to work through his journal, notes to add on his day’s events. But this morning was different, he had a task to attend to.

The Captain cracked his neck down to his spine as he stood, pulling out a nicer shirt than the day before and stripping down from his nightclothes to button up the fine cotton shirt, tucking it into a pair of black pants. Boots laced up under the fabric, Bill opened the chest at the foot of his bed and pulled out a much-unused garment, reserved for formal occasions. A coat black as night with silver embroidery swirling up each side and lining the collar, licking up the garment like flames coiling around the buttons.

A bit decadent for his tastes, but some days he really needed to look the part.

Pulling his hair from the tight braid, he brushed it out again before carefully pulling it back into a ponytail this time, still leaving the front locks down to frame his face while the rest slid smoothly into a fabric tie.

When Bill looked into the mirror, for a moment he almost saw the man he’d been so many decades ago. Were it not for the stitched up scar along his neck, he would look exactly the same as the proud young man who’d kissed his mother’s cheeks before leaving for what would come to be an eternity.

Today was not a day to dwell on the past, however. Today was a day for the future.

Maryam and Anna were awake in the room adjacent to him, door open when he stepped outside. They, too, were both dressed in a semblance of their finest, gold chains tossed over their necks and tied into their hair, bracelets coiled around their wrists. His crew spared no expense for the welcoming of a new member.

The door to the large room where he had left the cartographer the night before was shut and locked, and the Captain knocked twice with a smirk on his face, “Tell me, is there one within who yet awaits a swearing in?”

Dane’s voice answered him, laughter held back under the words, “Aye, Captain. A young lad awaits your guiding hands. Will you take him, still?”

“Even so, at this early hour. Tell me, is he ready to commit himself to the ship?”

In response, the door swung open and Dipper stood before him, dressed in new clothes, not his half-uniform from the evening before. It looked as if the boy had even combed his hair.

How sweet.

Grinning, Bill bowed at the waist and gestured for Dipper to follow him, the rest of the crew trailing behind.

“Paper contracts mean nothing to me, for paper can be burnt with ease, or lost at sea. So to join our crew, there’s another sort of oath you must swear, to me and to the ship herself.”

Perhaps the men in his room had warned him not to speak, or perhaps Dipper was simply too nervous, but the young man said nothing in reply as they made their way down to the docks, thought their pace was more than slow enough for conversation. Nor did he ask any questions, simply maintaining a somber, serious sort of silence.

It wasn’t as if Bill would have answered anyway. There was a ritual to this, after all.

While Bill had gestured to the _Majaris Kisaiya_ the night before, Dipper had seemed amazed at her masts and bound flags, but from here, just a gangplank away from her hull, he was truly stunned. The wood was stained a near-ebony black, gleaming in the early morning sun, and sucking in the light like a vortex at the more worn parts.

Bill’s grin was wide and sharp as he looked her over, she’d come into port without injury and needed no repairs, a perfect beauty.

Experience in the Navy meant that Bill had no concerns for Dipper as they walked up the gangplank, the Captain taking point and letting the others follow, right foot in front of left with the Atlantic Ocean to either side, a daunting drop should anyone slip.

The brunet looked only mildly shaken when he reached the deck, and Bill was almost proud. Navy man or not, _Kisaiya's_  plank was a good deal longer than most ships, for how far she was out from the docks. Most were at least a bit trepidatious the first time around. And the second. And the third.

But not a soul had slipped, the crew all gathering around as Bill stepped up to the center mast of the ship, holding out a hand to gesture for Dipper to join him.

“I’ve given you but a hint of what life aboard this ship entails. Morals are loose here, blood is money and gold means blood. There will be no laws of mercy, no court martials. We are sailors without law, sailors without land, sailors without loyalty to any but those around us. And we remain thus from the day we set sail to the day we die.” Bill took a knife from his belt, the hilt carved into a snake that coiled into his fingers, giving him an easy grip on the blade, “An oath do we swear, in blood and on our souls, that our deaths will not come after the death of this ship. If she sinks, we all sink with her, no matter the circumstances. So tell me, Dipper Pines, will you swear?”

Bill’s voice took on a musical quality as he spoke, the words rehearsed but changed each time, the jist remaining the same. His mouth was stretched into a darker smirk than he’d shown Dipper yet, something mysterious glinting in honey-hazel eyes as he watched Dipper, the young man clearly deep in thought.

The crew was deathly silent as Dipper made his choice, looking between Bill’s face and the knife in his hands before the brunet placed his own hand out, palm up. He forced the tremour from his voice to answer, “I will, if you will have me.”

The smirk on Bill’s face widened into a near vicious grin as a chuckle escaped him, the blade held tight in his left hand, “Gladly, Dipper Pines. An oath it is, then.” And without so much as a wince, Bill sliced through the skin of his right palm, blood pooling at the surface and dripping down his hand, stark red against dark skin. “As your Captain, I swear to put the interests of the crew above my own and do all in my power to save the ship, even if it means my own sacrifice. Do you, Dipper Pines, accept this offer in return for your undying loyalty and lashing to the fate of the ship that will become your home?”

Brown eyes were trained on the blood flowing in rivulets down the Captain’s arm but Dipper shook himself from the trance, nodding and tilting his palm even closer to Bill, “I swear on my life and my soul to live and die with this ship and her crew, no matter the circumstance.”

Carefully, Bill took the knife and slid it across Dipper’s right palm, the skin splitting like butter under the sharp edge, a hiss escaping the cartographer’s mouth as a sharp sting followed the blade, heat pulsing under his skin as the blood flowed through, dripping along his skin as it did along the Captain’s.

With both of their wounds open now, Bill reached across with his right hand and grasped Dipper’s tightly, pressing the wounds together so that the blood mixed as he shook Dipper’s hands, “Welcome aboard, Dipper Pines. Place your hand on the mast of the ship and be secured into her heart.” And in example, he pressed his sliced hand against the wood, letting the blood drip in between the grains.

Slowly, Dipper raised his hand to join Bill’s on the mast, a smile tugging at his lips as the crew gave a collective congratulatory yell before rushing in on them, throwing arms around Dipper from all angles.

Bill would ensure that the wound was bound up later, for the moment he would give his crew their fun. Idly he scratched at his own wound, the skin already stitching up, pink and angry, but no longer bleeding. It would be gone by morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they'll be heading out of port next chapter~ once Bill makes sure Dipper's hand doesn't fall off from gangrene or something.


	6. Designed for Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ship to be toured, a task to be completed, and a story to be told lie in store for Dipper Pines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i've gone so long without updating, midterms and opening night for my show are bearing down on me, and i caught a deathly plague the past few days. but i'm better now <3

As ever, days spent ashore passed in the blink of an eye, perhaps moreso, with the new task Bill set for himself. He couldn’t just toss Dipper aboard without any understanding of the place, after all.

So while the rest of the crew caroused amongst the townspeople, Bill wrapped his healed hand in gauze and showed the brunet around. Dipper’s own slice had stopped bleeding through the fabric bindings that Maryam had been quick to give him, though they would need to be changed and cleaned every few hours until the wound itself healed over.

And until Dipper’s wound healed, Bill’s would remain hidden. His curse was a private matter, something not a soul of his crew knew head or tail of, and the cartographer was no different.

The _Majaris Kisaiya_ was a beautiful ship. There were very few things in the Captain’s life that he could boast of, but her design was one of them. He had long since lost the original sketches, the loving charcoal drawings on canvas, but bringing her to life again and again was the brightest point in his life. He knew her every board, every nail, every inch of peat used to seal her water-tight walls.

The only difference each time was her name, a new Christening for the new lady of his new life. The name itself was painted in careful gold longhand along the side of her bow, the one detail Bill made certain to do himself. The gold paint never lost its sheen, the moment it so much as suggested wear, the Captain would paint over the fading lines.

On her last day, the _Majaris Kisaiya_ would look as beautiful as she had on her first, and the ocean would be proud to claim her.

Her oak and cedar hull was stained near-ebony black, the wood pre-treated before it was laid into place. The dyes sank deep enough into the planking not to need renewal often, though some days Bill felt an urge to patch the staining in places, not wanting any of her splendour to fade into the simple browns and reds of other ships. The only thing darker than her hull was the flag that she flew, when it was unfurled. A background black as pitch, a golden ouroboros coiling its way around the simple triangle in the center, the simplicity of it pleased the Captain, never one for unnecessary adornments.

An eternity was too long to worry himself with fanciful notions of beauty and grandeur. Simple things held much more beauty in Bill’s eyes.

Simple things like the familiar creak of the planks under his feet as he walked through her corridors and rooms, showing Dipper the depths of the ship, her cargo bays and sleeping quarters. Simple things like the flames flickering in tarnished silver lanterns along the corridors. Simple things like porthole windows that looked out over the sea.

Bill knew the ship better than the back of his hand, better than he’d ever known any man or woman, perhaps better even than he knew himself.

More than once amidst their tours, the pair ran into Mora, the black cat that prowled the _Majaris’s_ corridors, catching rats before they could trouble the crew. The cat rubbed up against Bill’s legs each time, refusing to let him pass before he knelt down to scratch under her chin and behind her ears, a little smile on his face. Dipper, she was not so fond of, yellow eyes watching warily before she simply bumped her head against his hand and went on her merry way.

“She’ll come around, she always does. Or she’ll hate you forever. Equally possible.” Bill had simply laughed before continuing on the tour, the brunet trailing behind with a slightly miffed expression until the memory of the cat was pressed away by yet more rooms of the ship.

If there was one thing Bill loved about adopting new crew members, it was the expression of wonder on their faces as they beheld his pride and joy for the first time, and Dipper was no different.

The brunet’s mouth never closed as he walked amidst the hammocks and the lanterns, the crates and the barrels. Whenever possible, his fingers trailed along the walls, eyes wide with marvel, and questions fell from his lips like honey.

“Did you win this ship from someone else?”

That question had been answered with a laugh as Bill opened the door to the cabin where he kept his maps, where Dipper would be doing his work, “No. I designed her, every board, every nail, every stitch in the flag. And I would never so much as _think_ of letting anyone else captain her. Any challenger would sooner find himself dead than standing at her helm.”

The words were spoken with a smile, but also with a chilling finality and sincerity behind them. Honey hazel eyes watched as a shiver traveled down Dipper’s spine, the promise of a threat more than evident in the air between them before the moment passed.

Bill stepped away from Dipper, uncurling his current piece of work on the desk and pinning it down with a weight at each corner. It was a map of the middle-Atlantic, several small islands as yet unnamed marked between the larger ones, notes jotted down in Bill’s own slanted hand.

“This is what _you’ll_ be working on, once we set sail.”

Slowly, Dipper shook the threat’s lingering chill from his shoulders before he walked over to stand on the opposite side of the desk, looking down at the map and tracing his fingers over the details. The ink was all dried, but he could see where some places were newer than others, “You’re adding islands to the map?”

A nod came in response as Bill took a pen from the well of the desk and tapped the dry nib to the small, unlabeled islands, “Indeed. In fact, I have a bit of a mission, you see. I intend to map the entirety of the seven seas by the time I’ve drawn my last breath- or at least as much as I can.”

Surprise etched itself over Dipper’s face as he looked over at Bill, eyebrow raised, “That’s… a hefty goal to set. There’s a lot of ocean to be seen, Captain. And only so many years to do so.”

Slim shoulders rose and fell in a shrug as the Captain started rolling the map up again, tying it closed with a red silk ribbon, “I don’t intend on wasting a single moment. You’ll learn that soon enough, on this ship.”

His moments were endless, after all, but the crew’s were not.

Tours completed and Dipper’s few possessions placed on board- his art supplies in the office alongside Bill’s collection, the rest set beside an empty hammock below decks- the Captain left Dipper in the care of his crew for the remainder of the stay on shore. It would do well for him to get to know them, and Bill had other duties to attend to as it was.

Almost a full week from the day they’d come into port, the crew of the _Majaris Kisaiya_ was prepared to set sail again. Bill stood at the helm, a grin on his face as the breeze off the shore tousled his hair. They would have smooth sailing for a couple of days yet, no worries heading back out on their journey.

The weather and the omens all boded well for his journey, and he believed he had time yet to enjoy it.

The last night ashore was spent on the ship rather than at the inn, the crew gathered in an empty cargo bay and seated in several circles, some playing cards, others telling stories, all passing around plates of food provided by the innkeeper upon their egress and taking swigs from bottles that were tossed from man to man. Bill ghosted from circle to circle, enjoying the warmth and the sense of family in the space.

For tonight, any feuds were forgotten in favour of a feast, a farewell to land for an unknown span of time, and a welcoming of a new man to the crew proper.

As the evening drew to a close, the moon high in her arc and the stars all out from their hiding, the circles drew closer, some men wandering off to their beds, stumbling drunkenly into the night, others simply withdrawing into themselves. Pleasantly buzzed, the Captain settled himself next to Maryam, one leg drawn up to his chest to rest his chin upon, honey eyes surveying the circle of men and women still awake.

“Here to tell us a bedtime story, Captain?” Maryam’s voice was a tad lower and warmer than usual, more cajoling than chiding, and it prompted a low laugh from Bill’s lips as he raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that depends, do you want to hear one?” And the question was voiced to the whole group, though his eyes rested at length on Dipper, whose face was flushed to high noon in the firelight, clearly having drank his fill for the first night on board a ship.

A chorus of ‘aye’s came in answer to his query and the Captain laughed again, resettling himself, seated with his legs crossed and his elbows on his knees, hands steepled in front of him, “I suppose I can supply a story or two. I’ve learnt a great many, in my old age.”

Laughter came in response to that, Dane reaching across from Bill’s other side to slap him across the back, “Don’t be talkin’ ‘bout yer age like that, Cap. You’ve got, what, a year and odd months on me? You’ll be makin’ _me_ feel old soon enough.”

When the laughter rang out again, raucous and bright, Bill joined in, mouth open in a wide grin to conceal the pit in his stomach. It wasn’t until the laughter and jibes at his youthful looks quieted that he continued, voice low as he began his story.

“Men much older than those seated here speak quite lowly of a pirate crew that once sailed these very seas, ruthless and unstoppable. The ship was made of oak, her planks dyed cherry red with the blood of a thousand men, throats slit on her decks and the blood spread across each board until it shone with an unholy light, glowing faintly even in the blackest of the night. But rarely was night black for this ship, for it was said she glided soundlessly across the waves, her sails aflame from dusk ‘til dawn, when the sun’s very rays bested her flames and her sails were left unscathed, as if the fire had never touched them.”

All other noise in the room had quieted, none wanting to drown out the Captain’s low voice reserved for storytelling. Dozens of eyes focused on him as he spoke, honey hazel irises focused on the lantern in the middle of the circle, his face animated as his words spun a tale, taking each and every person from the world below decks to the seas of decades ago, a sailor’s tale that had been circulating since before many of this crew had been born.

When his tale had finished, Bill raised his flask, gesturing to start a toast with all those who remained awake, bottles and flasks joining his in the air, “To men greater and ghastlier than those here, that we may one day live to be remembered as they were.”

“Aye aye!”

Lips took drinks and a chorus of agreement went up again before the conversation picked up again and Bill rose, still quite steady on his feet, with only a bit of sway to his step as he patted Dane’s shoulder and prepared to take his leave, “We sail with the crow of the cock, men. Whether you sleep between now and then is your choice, of course, but _I,_ for one, am going to enjoy my last night without threat of a storm or a challenge. I’ll see you all at first light.”

Several men threw him mock salutes, others tossed up hands in a wave of goodbye, and a smattering of voices promised to put the lanterns out shortly and retire to their beds. As he made his way through the circle toward the door, a hand grabbed onto his, catching him and turning him to look down into deep brown eyes, hazy with liquour.

“T-that was a lovely story, Captain… Will you… tell me more, sometime?”

Smiling down at Dipper with mild confusion, Bill leant over to ruffle his hair before pulling his hand free, “I have a whole collection of stories, Pines. And I’m sure you’ll get to hear a good many of them, I can’t deny the chance to tell them.”

“I want to hear them _all_ Captain… Every single one.”

The laugh that spilled forth from Bill’s lips as he turned was indulgent as he threw one last look over his shoulder, “I doubt there are enough days in our remaining years to tell them all, Dipper Pines. I have more stories than you could think to consider.”

And with that he was gone, slipping through the door and up onto the deck, walking across the ship to his quarters to make an attempt at sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gay for the ship and so is bill
> 
> the cat's name, Mora, means friend in Rromani.


	7. A Change in the Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fates have spun his thread the same for a century, what reason could they have to change that now?

Everything was water.

Not wet. Nothing was wet. It was a strange sensation, being so surrounded and submerged that you were almost one with the water. Wet implied that there was an opposite state, a dry for comparison. And at the bottom of the ocean, there was nothing of the sort.

Dry was incomprehensible when everything was water.

His hair trailed across his face, tugged to and fro by the twisting currents, and that was the only sensation he had. There was no light here, nothing by which to see the world around him, but perhaps that was for the best.

This deep in the ocean, he was certain all he would see was some semblance of hell.

Each breath was torture, each swallow of water a flash of pain, but it was never enough. The curse kept him alive, kept him choking at the bottom as the tides tossed him about, swallowing seawater and flooding his lungs, an internal beating to match the cuts and bruises and burns that his body sustained.

Consciousness was a frenzied half-dream, broken up by patches of pitch blackness, patches of utter lack of feeling. And those were the best moments, the moments when he was closest to the end he desired more than anything.

But without fail, he was thrown from his reprieve, body tossed against a rock, a gasp pulling in a lungful of water as he choked and sputtered, flailing miles beneath the ocean.

Honey eyes opened to stare at the roof of his cabin, chest heaving with laboured breaths. His legs were tangled in the sheets of his bed, evidence of the fitful sleep he’d been startled from. A glance at the window over his desk told him what he had already suspected. It was not nearly daybreak, the sky still a deep blue that almost mirrored the sea.

A pity, he’d just missed the stars. Some nights his dreams awoke him early enough to watch them burn out one by one. It was oddly soothing.

Sighing, he slowly rolled out each of his joints in an attempt to loosen the tension there. Apparently, one hundred years of the same damned nightmares meant nothing in terms of his body’s response to them. Each one left him feeling tense and ill-rested, his body and mind never allowed a peaceful sleep.

The stretching routine completed, he sat up fully in his bed with a near-wince. There was an ache deep in his bones that never quite left him, some combination of the decades of beating his body had received and recovered from and the poor habits he’d picked up along the years. More alcohol than food, more time spent hanging from the mast than resting his head against a pillow.

This early there were few ways to occupy himself. His violin was out of the question, some of the other crew members would be awake soon and he was in no mood to have an audience. He had yet to catalogue his time ashore in his journal, but that was something he could do in daylight once they’d set sail. He’d hate to be interrupted mid-sentence and have to come back to it later.

There was, he supposed, a reading to be done. He got up without urgency and sat at his desk, pulling out the worn cards once again, trailing his fingers over the smooth surface.

A long time ago, long enough that large swathes of it were mere shadows in Bill’s mind, he’d done tarot readings to start each day. His mother’s words echoed in his head even now, one of the few things emblazoned on his soul as fresh as if they’d been said yesterday.

_“Every day could be life changing, chavo. It’s best to know before it comes, give yourself a head start. And the cards will never lie, you just need to listen to them. Once you stop listening, the fates will have your head.”_

He wasn’t even sure the fates could have his head anymore, but they certainly had their share of laughs at his expense, he was certain. How amusing it must be, to assign one man the same hellish fate for one hundred years without any chance of reprieve. Or perhaps they had simply gotten bored, set his tapestry string on repeating weavers and left for more intriguing ventures.

Either way, the future rarely held wonders in store for Bill these days, and thus he looked for it rarer and rarer. His reading had been the same for as long as he could remember, it wasn’t even something he really looked at these days. Just a check for the status quo, a familiar motion that was more calming than anything else.

He only did readings for dockings and cast-offs, save a few other occasions that inspired him to pull out his cards. Those were days when things could change, though, as of yet, they had never done so.

Pulling himself from his musings, Bill shuffled the cards. The motion was second nature, he didn’t even have to look at the cards to ensure that none of them slipped from his hands. His mother would be proud of how his technique had improved, but with the practice he’d gotten, it wasn’t exactly something to be lauded.

He’d never had the natural talent that she possessed, but perseverance and decades to perfect his technique gave the illusion of something akin to talent. To anyone else, it would seem that he was a natural, only in his early thirties and handling the cards with ease, but in his own heart it was a dark matter of pride.

Practice makes perfect indeed.

A couple of rounds of shuffling were all he needed before he laid the cards out, flipping them without thought or emotion. He knew what they would be, after all.

The Hanged Man, upright. The World reversed. Death reversed. A sigh escaped him as he flipped the final card, waiting to see The Hermit’s twisted face.

Bill barely flickered his eyes down to look at the last card, hand already poised to collect them and shuffle them back into the deck, another repeated reading. But he paused, hand hovering over the Fate card as a frown crossed his face.

The Hermit did not stare up at him from the card’s surface. The familiar bent edges did not wish him a good morning. The card that looked up at him with twin, soft smiles was one he’d only seen rarely, and never in his own readings.

The Lovers, upright, smiled at him on the table.

Unbidden, the card’s meaning came to his mind in singular words, each one unfamiliar and sparking an unpleasant sensation in his chest and stomach.

_Love. Union. Balance. Relationships. Connection. Warmth. Alignment._

__

Slim fingers took hold of the mahogany of his desk as honey hazel eyes looked over the cards, certain that his first glance had deceived him, but there was no doubt about it. His Fate card had changed.

A fluke. A knot in the thread of the fates. That’s what this had to be.

Picking up the cards again, Bill shuffled them back in and took a deep breath, trying to quiet his pounding heart and settle the butterflies in his stomach. He’d do a reading again, it would come out as usual, and this would all be behind him.

The Hanged Man. The World. Death.

A pause, genuine trepidation in his heart and trembling in his fingers as the Captain turned the Fate card.

And The Lovers smiled up at him again.

Fear was settling in the pit of his stomach now, anxiety over what the change in cards could possibly mean. One changed reading could be a fluke, a slip of his hand. But two? Two changed readings in a row? It was looking quite set in stone.

Despite himself, he dealt out a third reading. One last chance to prove to himself that this was all some hoax, some trick of hand, some flaw of the cards. One last chance to return his Fate to its constant state.

But The Lovers’ smiling faced mocked him for the third and final time, and Bill stood from his desk in a frenzy, hand running through the free locks of hair that framed his face. The Captain began to pace on bare feet, muttering under his breath as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Can’t be possible. I can’t find _love,_ not with this _curse_ upon my soul. I’m doomed to lose _everything,_ that is my slot in life. Love is _impossible_ for a man damned to sink his heart to the ocean’s depths again and again in the bodies of his crew. It _cannot be.”_

But the cards never lied. Something had changed, and the Captain had no idea what or how, but there was no going back now. The fates had twisted his thread, intertwining it with another’s, and he was doomed to this new fate.

Was he doomed, then, to fall in love and lose that person too? His heart was well guarded for a reason, it was easiest to say goodbye to people he didn’t know, people who didn’t know him. To fall in love and be parted from someone so dear to him… that would truly break him. He had never known love in that sense, but he had heard tales of men driven mad by its loss.

An eternity without love, that was what he had resigned himself to. It was easy to live without something he had never known, impossible to miss something he had never had. But to know love? To be filled with light and warmth and affection, and then to have it all snuffed out?

The very notion had a chill running down his spine.

Groaning, Bill threw himself back down into his chair, resting his head in hands, elbows on the desk. His fingers threaded into his hair, palms pressed into his cheeks as his thoughts raced, trying to find a way out of this, an explanation, an escape, _anything_ to calm the panic that seized him.

He was still lost in his thoughts as the sky began to tinge pink, the sun threatening to crest over the water and call his crew from their beds. In a daze, he set about getting ready, brushing his hair out of its braid and putting it up in a low ponytail before getting dressed and putting his ear cuff back on, the chain trailing along the shell of his ear.

A change in his fate could not take away from his image, after all. He had a ship to captain, a crew to command, a misfit family to care for. They could not be made aware of his crisis, his internal debacle. For all they would know, business was as usual.

By the time he was stepping out of door to take his place at the helm, he had talked himself into a clearer headspace, the panic and the anxiety and the fear walled up in the back of his head. They would come back to haunt him later, he knew, but they could wait until he was alone with a moment to face them.

For the moment, his ship was more important.

A grin stretched across his face, he stepped out into the early morning light to watch his crew tumble up from below decks to set about their duties. The sails were unfurled, the flag raised, and the anchor pulled up from the port’s seabed.

Just as the sun crested fully over the water, the _Majaris Kisaiya_ was ready to set sail and Bill took his place at her helm, the wheel a comfortable weight in his hands, a constant to balance the shock from this morning. So focused was he on that familiar weight, the shape of the spokes, that he failed to notice the shadow that fell over him from the man beside him.

“S-sir- I mean Captain!- Good morning!”

Head snapping up and to the side, for a moment surprise flashed across the Captain’s face before he simply smirked amusedly, nodding his head in acknowledgement, “Good morning, Dipper Pines. Glad to be headed out to sea again?”

There was a light flush across the bridge of the brunet’s noise and the tops of his cheeks, an endearing sight, as he nodded his head and grinned, “Always, Captain. I’ve always loved the sea.”

“As have I, Pines, as have I. Were I not married to my good lady here, I would be swift to offer myself up as a suitor to the sea.” In explanation, he lightly patted the wheel, a smile on his face at the attempt at a joke.

And it was a success, too, as Dipper laughed and looked over at the water, the port swiftly fading into the distance behind them, “Your ship’s a lucky lady, to have such a husband as yourself. I can’t imagine a better one.”

The words struck a chord in Bill’s head as he looked up at Dipper with an eyebrow raised, “You have an odd way to go about compliments, boy, but flattery will get you everywhere, or so I hear. Don’t be getting jealous of my girl, now, though. I won’t be having any fighting over me, she wins every time.” He flashed a grin, returning the joke with one of his own and now they were both laughing.

“You know what they say, there’s a first time for everything, Captain. Maybe I’ll have to try my luck.”

And the comment was certainly a joke, spoken as Dipper sat down on a crate nearby, sketchbook already open in his lap and a charcoal stick in his hand as he began to draw, but Bill couldn’t help but turn it over in his mind. It was forward, for someone who had only known him for a few days, the sort of joke Maryam was fond of, knowing of his… unusual preferences when it came to partners. But Dipper knew nothing of the sort, and such a comment could earn him harsh reprimand if it fell on the wrong ears.

So why would the brunet risk such a joke?

Bill turned back to the sea, Dipper’s words joining the already jumbled mess of thoughts in his head as he steered the _Majaris Kisaiya_ out to the open waters.

The Lovers. Love. Partnership. "A lucky lady." "Try my luck."

Slowly, honey eyes wandered back over to the cartographer, a sardonic laugh coiling up from his stomach and tumbling up his throat to catch wind and echo across the bow. Dipper looked up and met his eyes with confusion but the Captain merely waved him off with an unreadable expression.

Oh, how the fates had punished him indeed. But he was privy to their plans, he knew of their designs for him, and he could prevent it all.

All he had to do was what he’d been doing all of his life. All he had to do was keep himself closed off. All he had to do was _not_ fall in love with the tall mapmaker.

How hard could that be, truly?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now begins hell
> 
> Romani Translations:  
> chavo- my child


	8. Stolen Portraits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper is certain the Captain is avoiding him. It shouldn't bother him, he doesn't know the man, after all. But he just can't get Bill off of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took me forever, I got really busy with school and also seeing friends and family for Thanksgiving. updates are gonna be back on more regularly now that the term is coming to a close~

Life aboard a pirate ship was quite different from his time with the Navy.

 

In basics, of course, there was a lot of similarity. Days started with the first rays of the sun and work ended as the sun fell beneath the horizon, and from there the crew peeled off to their own pursuits, some heading straight to bed while others sat on the deck and played cards- weather permitting. The sleeping quarters were similar as well, hammocks hung just far enough apart to give each person their own personal space, all while maintaining a sense of togetherness.

 

It didn’t take long for him to learn names, even for some of the more reclusive crew members.

 

Nor did it take long for him to realise that the Captain was, in fact, one of those reclusive members.

 

The first week or so of his time aboard, the Captain had been nearly omnipresent, perhaps to ensure that nothing disastrous went wrong. He’d shown him the route to the cartographer’s room again, though there was nothing to be mapped until they hit land, before introducing him to a variety of the ship’s crew sections. The boys of the crow’s nest, seemingly led by a young boy who couldn’t have been older than fifteen. Alphie, quite possibly the most enthusiastic person Dipper had ever met.

 

The redhead looked up at the Captain like he held the answers to every question, and maybe he did.

 

Bill himself had climbed up the netting with ease, almost careless as he made his way up to the crow’s nest and called down to Dipper, frozen on the deck below. He was deathly afraid of heights and could only shake his head when the Captain asked if he’d like to join him. No matter how lovely the view was, he felt much safer down here on the solid deck.

 

Dipper had made it up to the crow’s nest once or twice, egged on by Alphie or Dane, and once he got there, he was amazed at the view of the open ocean… but the journey up and down was harrowing enough not to make it very often.

 

After a week or so, though, the Captain had seemingly disappeared. Dipper would catch glimpses of him now and again, at the helm or in the crow’s nest, or making his way across the deck, but before he could call out to him or catch him, the dark haired man disappeared into his quarters or below decks, or was ensnared in conversation, face serious.

 

Not that he was looking out for the Captain or anything. He didn’t need him for any reason, after all, so there was no reason to go looking, or to be disappointed when Bill didn’t come looking for him.

 

And yet Dipper found himself frowning he watched Bill descend from the crow’s nest, telescope slotted back into a holster at his belt as he swung down the rope netting with practiced ease. The midday sun caught in deep brown hair and cast shadows across olive cheeks as Bill’s feet hit the ground before the Captain sauntered past Dipper with only a flashed smile for greeting.

 

He hadn’t given the Captain a reason to avoid him, had he?

 

Their last conversation flashed through Dipper’s mind, as it had a half dozen times in as many days, and he sighed softly to himself. He hadn’t meant to let the line slip out, hadn’t meant to come on to the Captain so strong- it would have gotten him thrown overboard back with the Navy. But Maryam’s gentle teasing shoreside had spurred him on, loosened his tongue, and potentially ruined his chance at friendship with the Captain, let alone anything else.

 

Maybe she truly had just been teasing. Maybe he’d just earnt himself a place at the bottom of the ship’s ranking for his joke, maybe Bill thought it in poor taste.

 

Either way, Dipper had no feasible way of getting his answer with the Captain always pre-occupied and himself far too shy- and frightened- to make conversation himself.

 

He’d seen Bill angry all of once since coming aboard, and he sincerely hoped he never had to see it again- or at least, that it was never, ever directed at him. The Captain was terror incarnate when rage flashed in honey eyes.

 

The confrontation was still fresh in Dipper’s mind, perhaps because he had a rough sketch of Bill’s face contorted with anger in his notebook, drawn in short, harsh lines.

 

While Dipper was the newest member of the crew, there were a couple of other fairly new faces around, and it seemed they hadn’t yet received the full rundown of how the _Majaris Kisaiya_ operated. Namely, her chain of command and how set in stone it was.

 

That day, Dipper had learnt just how deeply Bill cared for and respected Maryam.

 

The lanky blond sailor who landed himself on the wrong side of Bill’s anger- his name was Vice, if Dipper could recall- was seated atop a crate on the deck, leaning back on his arms and letting the sun wash over him. Perhaps he was done with his chores for the morning, perhaps he was just taking a break, either way, he was lazing about, pale eyes watching the passers by of the crew.

 

When Maryam passed, however, his hand snaked out and caught her by the wrist, pulling her to turn and face him. The woman’s face was impassive, only the slightest raise of a brow in acknowledgement of the man’s insolence.

 

“C’mon, sweet, how’s’about you come down meet me for _lunch_ and show me what you showed the Captain to earn yourself a place on this ship?”

 

Maryam’s smile was ice cold and dagger sharp as she tugged her wrist from Vice’s grip and made a show of wiping it off on her tunic, “A duel below decks? Do you not want witnesses to your defeat, boy?”

 

The blond had guffawed then, standing and placing his hands on his hips in a show of confidence, “Oh a _duel,_ was it? I bet you gave him _quite_ a set of _scratches_ with your _duel._ Battle scars and what not. Don’t worry, sweetie, if it makes you feel better, I’ll let you give me those too.”

 

The first mate was clearly in no mood to deal with Vice’s insolence and so she simply turned on her heel, that same cold smile still on her face, “If you like your organs where they are, Vice, you’ll know better than to pick a fight with me. And I certainly hope you don’t. You’re not worth dulling my knives on.”

 

And with that she was gone, soles of her boots clicking with grace across the wood of the deck. Vice was left in her wake with a smug smile on his face, clearly underestimating her threat as he sat back down on the crate to gloat.

 

Only to have the Captain stand over him, the slim man just tall enough to block the sun and bathe Vice in his shadow.

 

Instantly Vice stood at attention, placing his hand to his heart, “Captain! Good afternoon, how can I help you?”

 

Long, thin fingers snatched out to grab Vice by the collar and yank him down so that he was eye level with Bill, honey hazel alight with fire. He didn’t yell, didn’t even raise his voice, the only indicator of his mood was the dangerous undertone to his words, the snarl which curled his lips downward to match the heat in his eyes. “You can _help me,_ Vice, by _respecting those above you._ I will not call Maryam off if you prompt her into a duel, and I will not come between you if she determines your words worthy of capital dues. I will have no whisper of insurgence, no _murmur_ of mutiny aboard this ship, towards myself _or_ my officers. And I _don’t_ think you need be reminded of what was done to the last man who thought to break that rule. You were here for it, after all.”

 

By the end, there was a chilling smirk on Bill’s face, one that sent a shiver down _Dipper’s_ spine, even from his relatively safe vantage point. And he was pretty sure he could see Vice shaking when the Captain released him and went on his way as if nothing had taken place.

 

Shaking himself out of the memory, Dipper looked down at that very page in his notebook, Bill’s teeth bared in his snarl, face twisted and yet somehow still beautiful. The cartographer longed for paints, or at least for tea or something similar to add colour to the Captain’s face, to through his features into dramatic flares of shadow and light, to give more life to the piece. It couldn’t hope to do its inspiration justice, truly.

 

For now, though, it was complete, and there were unfinished pieces he could work on. There wasn’t much for him to do on board at the moment anyway, at least not without feeling like a burden or an unnecessary pair of hands, so he’d taken to sketching out various scenes from the ship’s lively days.

 

Alphie hanging precariously from the sail-ties, high above where any man should ever be walking, a grin on his face.

 

Dane and a handful of other crew members seated around a crate, cards and guineas laid out in heaps, some faces bright with wide smiles, others furrowed in concentration.

 

Still life sketches of crates and barrels, of piles of rope and bottles left on railings.

 

Rough, quick drawings of the sea churning up against the side of the boat, threatening to swallow the wooden planks if they could not resist her charms.

 

But more than anything else, the parchment pages contained charcoal sketches of the _Majaris’s_ elusive Captain.

 

Bill with his looking glass pressed to his eye, a little smirk turning up his lips. The Captain staring out to the sea with something like melancholy in his eyes, an unreadable expression almost akin to loss, something Dipper had caught glimpses of when the Captain stood at the helm for too long. And in contrast, a sketch of Bill that was of yet unfinished, his hair back in a ponytail and blowing behind him as his hands gripped the wheel, a fierce expression of glee on his face.

 

The Captain took great glee in battling the harshest of tides.

 

“Cipher commission you for a portrait, did he?”

 

Maryam’s voice caused Dipper to jump, lost as he was in his imaginations, and he was quick to snap his notebook closed, flushing at the ears as he looked over at her, “N-no, nothing of the sort! I was… just practicing my portraits, is all. And the Captain’s expression was good practice.”

 

“From what I saw, it was a pretty good likeness, kid. You should show him sometime, I bet he’d get a kick out of it.”

 

The laugh that escaped the cartographer was just on the wrong side of nervous as he ran a hand through his windswept hair and shook his head rapidly, “Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t want to see it. Besides, it’s unfinished and not nearly good enough to be looked at. This.. this is a book of sketches. Not anything I’d consider offering as examples of my work.”

 

Not to mention that the Captain was already avoiding him and _really_ didn’t need to be made aware of the fact that the cartographer was drawing him in his spare time. If there was any chance of Dipper actually fixing whatever had gone awry between them, it would not be found in his drawings of the Romani Captain.

 

The only answer Dipper got was a shrug from Maryam as she smirked and waved a hand, “Just a suggestion. He really would enjoy it, I think. Spends enough time in front of the mirror in those quarters of his, I’m sure he’d love a portrait to make love to when he’s feeling lonely,” and there was Maryam’s laugh again before she shoved at Dipper’s shoulder almost conspiratorially, “Speaking of the Captain’s quarters, he’d like you to meet him there after you’ve eaten this evening. Says he has something to discuss with you.”

 

It took every piece of Dipper’s resolve not to let the trepidation and anticipation show on his face as he nodded, trying to maintain a calm facade, “Alright… thank you, Maryam. I’ll be certain not to make him wait.”

 

“See that you don’t, darling. He may argue that at his age he has near infinite patience, but he is still a man, after all. Men don’t learn patience in thirty and some odd years.” Her humour was good natured as she stood, ruffling his hair and winking before she left, “I’d bring that notebook of yours. Your art might save you from being gutted like a fish.”

 

The guffawing laugh that escaped her lips as she walked away proved Maryam’s words to be simple jest, but Dipper couldn’t stop the twisting in his stomach, the fear that those words would indeed be true.

 

What if today was to be his last?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the verdict is that Dipper, too, is very gay.


	9. Presence Requested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Captain has some news for Dipper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please forgive me for how long this took, finals kicked my ass and i've been in the process of moving into a new house. on the plus side, we're getting into the meat of the fic, so that's exciting~!

To say Dipper was nervous as he made his way across the ship to the Captain’s quarters would be a blatant understatement. The man had avoided him for weeks, hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to him, had given him only the smallest of smiles, and suddenly Cipher wanted to see him?

 

Whatever the Captain wanted, it certainly couldn’t be good.

 

It was with trepidation that Dipper slipped his sketchbook into his satchel and tossed the charcoal sticks in afterwards. Maryam had taken her leave shortly after conveying Cipher’s message, barking orders to a man swinging from the ropes, directions for pulling the sails taut or something of the like. Dipper had lost track of her swiftly, lost as he was in his own worries.

 

At the very least, if Cipher did decide to kill him today, the weather was nice. There were worse days to be thrown out to sea, Dipper supposed.

 

Alphie called down to him from the crow’s nest as he passed, a bright greeting, and Dipper looked up with a smile that was more than a little forced. He waved to the young redhead, amused despite himself at how bright Alphie’s hair was in the sunlight- the boy looked as if his face was on fire with the light in his hair.

 

“Dane’s playing cards tonight, you gonna join us?”

 

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Dipper pushed down the worst of his worries and called up in answer, “I’ll watch, Alphie, but Dane’s won enough of my earnings as it is. I’m no good at your games, none of them.”

 

The young man burst into laughter at that, the sound bright and sweet and just enough to put a hint of genuine happiness into Dipper’s smile, “Sounds fair, don’t lose more than you’ve got! I’ll let ya look at my cards, so you’re included!”

 

Dipper raised a hand in thanks before turning again as Alphie raised the telescope to his eyes, back to his duties.

 

The card game would be a fun way to wind down… if he lived to watch it, that was.

 

With a sigh, Dipper adjusted his satchel on his shoulder and resumed his walk across the deck. It wasn’t much farther to Cipher’s door, behind which waited the Captain, either in his office or in his own room.

 

Hand raised, Dipper rapped his knuckles against the wood once, twice, before waiting with his hands behind his back to hide how the nails dug into the skin.

 

“Door’s unlocked, you can come in.”

 

At the very least, the Captain didn’t sound to be on edge, and that boded well for Dipper, didn’t it?

 

Trying to shake off his worries, Dipper turned the handle and opened the door, standing awkwardly in the doorway with his hands gripping the strap of his satchel, “Good afternoon, sir… Maryam.. Maryam told me you wished to see me…?”

 

The captain was leaning over his desk, focused on the map tacked down there, and he only flickered his face up to smile at Dipper and wave him in, chuckling as he picked up a pencil and wrote something on the map, “Did I not tell you to drop that whole ‘sir’ business, Dipper? Bill or Cipher will do just fine, Captain if you’re feeling particularly formal.”

 

“R-right, sorry si-Captain. Old habits die hard and all that nonsense,” Relinquishing his hold on the strap of his bag, Dipper ran a hand over his hair nervously and tried to keep the smile on his face, “S-should I come later? You look busy.”

 

To think, not long ago he’d been joking easily with the captain, and now the man terrified him. All because of an inane comment, something he should have kept to himself, something that could very well get him killed- especially if the Captain found his drawings and took offense to them.

 

In stark contrast, the Captain’s posture today was easy as he leant up and cracked his neck, chuckling and waving a hand. If it weren’t for the shadows under his eyes, the man would look as if he hadn’t a care in the world, “Nonsense. I sent for you, and that means your presence was wanted _presently._ I’ve got something to show you, Dipper.”

 

Cautiously, though with a bit of his deep seated trepidation calmed by Bill’s easy manner, Dipper made his way around to the Captain’s side of the table, looking at the expanse of land and see drawn out there. Little notes in what Dipper assumed was Cipher’s own slanted hand littered the map, but he didn’t have time to stop and read them all as the Captain’s hand pointed to a point on the European mainland, “Anyone tell you where we’re going yet?”

 

“Not in so many words. I’ve gotten quite a bit of ‘where the winds take us’ and I supposed that was the only answer there was.”

 

The Captain’s laugh rang out in the small office, a noise wasn’t sure he would ever forget, as it was quickly becoming his favourite, dangerous though that truth might be. One slim arm found its way around Dipper’s shoulders, an idle touch as the Captain tugged Dipper down to be closer to the map, “While that might be true, I do have _some_ plans in mind for where we’re headed. And those plans lead us presently to the lovely land of Spain, across this empty expanse of sea. Tell me, cartographer, are there any islands between the Americas and Spain on this map?”

 

Once again Dipper found himself caught off guard by Cipher’s mannerisms. He knew from watching the Captain that the man was fairly open in his physical shows of affection, that an arm around his shoulders meant nothing, _less_ than nothing, really, as part of a crew that Cipher referred to as family, but that knowledge did nothing to prevent the flush from colouring the very tips of his cheeks. Deep in his heart, the cartographer prayed that Bill didn’t notice. Shaking off the nervousness and passing the motion off as a simple shake of the head, Dipper tapped the map, “No, Cipher, there’s nothing between here and Spain. Why do you ask?”

 

His answer seemed to be exactly what the Captain was looking for, as the man grinned wide enough to flash white teeth from behind thin lips, bright against dark olive skin. The sight equally unnerved and excited Dipper, a shiver running down his spine at the prospect of what that grin could mean, “Because there are islands, Dipper. I spotted them myself this morning and made some adjustments to our course. We’re going to be adding to the map.”

 

There was a nearly manic air to the Captain’s words as he spoke, pointing to the wooden token he was using as a marker for the ship and sliding it to the left just a bit, “Once we’re here, they should be visible to the naked eye, and then it’ll only be a day or so’s sail before we hit land. _New_ land, _undiscovered_ land. And _you’ll_ be the one to map it. Maps of the islands and additions to my grand map of the seas here, if you’re feeling up to it of course..”

 

Cipher’s excitement was contagious and Dipper couldn’t help the smile that stretched his own lips wide as he looked away from the Captain’s face to focus on the map, already itching for a pencil and his sketchbook. The prospect of being responsible for mapping out an entirely new set of islands set a fire in his heart, burning out the remaining anxiety and fear that lingered there. Even if the Captain’s ultimate goal of mapping all of the seven seas was a bit far-fetched, this was an exciting moment. Someday, _his_ notes, _his_ sketches would be a part of published maps…

 

It was so thrilling Dipper could nearly taste the charcoal on his lips from tapping his mouth as he worked.

 

So lost was he in his exhilaration that Dipper didn’t notice how Bill’s honey eyes were trained on his face, something akin to fondness sparking in their depths as Dipper’s grin grew to rival his own. But when he finally found his voice again and over at the Captain, the man’s face was simply amused, the excitement bubbling beneath the surface rather than displayed fully.

 

“S-sorry, did you say something, Captain? I… I got a bit overenthusiastic.”

 

There it was again, that laugh, though this time it was something more akin to a chuckle, softer and less pronounced, more controlled, “No, no. I asked if you were feeling up to mapping, but I didn’t need any more answer than the look on your face, _chavo._ You want this as much as I do, and that’s all I needed to know.”

 

Cipher straightened and removed his arm from where it had been resting around Dipper’s shoulders, patting his back, “Get your supplies ready and your head in the proper space, cartographer. We’ll catch land in a couple of sunrises, and I want to start mapping the moment we do, can’t let this venture of mine put us too far off schedule, after all.”

 

With that, Bill went back to his notes, cleaning up bits here and there around the map, and Dipper got the sense that he was dismissed. Heading for the door, he stopped himself with one hand on the knob, “I can’t wait, Bill.”

 

And with that, he was gone, a smile on his face, his heart lighter than it had been since the last time he and the Captain had spoke.

 

Had Dipper lingered a moment later, he might have seen the Captain’s lips quirk up at the taller man’s use of his first name. He might have also caught the quick mask that fell over the dark haired man’s face after that smile tugged at it, might have caught the softly whispered curse, might have lingered to watch the Captain reach for a journal that was bound in ribbon, his other hand already grasping an ink quill rather than the pencil he’d been using a moment before.

  
He might have watched as the Captain added another tally mark to a page of his notebook before crossing them all out, a personal count, one that he was losing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rromani translations:  
> chavo- kid


	10. Charcoal and Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew lands on the uncharted island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about how late this chapter is. Finals, holidays, and health issues kicked my ass and my motivation to write, so I apologise for the long break between chapters. I've got my motivation back and I got over my issue with my writing so I should be updating weekly or so until the fic finishes. Thank you for your patience <3

Docking was a complex process, but Dipper knew that well enough from his time with the Navy. It was structured differently though, looser and more companionable than orderly and disciplined. That wasn’t to say that the Majaris’s crew failed to listen to the Captain’s instructions, no sir, but there was a friendliness to it all. Even when Bill barked orders, he flashed smiles.

 

And anything involving Alphie was immediately playful, the boy tossing bottles down to everyone below, hollering to keep everyone on their toes.

 

“Don’t go breaking any skulls now, Alphie. Don’t want you becoming a murderer at fifteen,” Bill ruffled the youth’s hair as he made his way down from the poop deck, earning a laugh and a toothy grin from the man in question.

 

“Only because I don’t wan’ ta be killin’ any of my friends, sir!” And with that Alphie gave a mock salute and spirited off to oversee more cargo movement, blankets and tarps and supplies for the couple of days they would be spending on land, ignoring the reprimand Bill shot after him.

 

“Stop with that sir nonsense!”

 

But the words held no real malice and Bill laughed as Alphie ran away, leaning up against the railing with a fond smile on his face. Dipper was content to see that expression, it loosened the Captain’s face, put a bit of light in honey hazel eyes.

 

He itched for charcoal and paper, itched to set that face down so he’d never risk forgetting it. Perhaps he’d sketch it by the fire tonight if he could find the time and a corner without fear of someone noticing just what he was sketching.

 

So lost was Dipper in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Bill speaking until the captain’s hand came down in front of his face, expression unreadable, “Hey,  _ chavo _ , is everything alright? Earworm catch you? Or do you hear a siren I comin’?”

 

“H-huh? Oh, s-sorry Captain. I was just thinking, is all. Thinking of what I’ll need for the mapping.” Running a hand through his hair, Dipper tried to cover up the flush on his cheeks and pass it off as simple lapse of thought. 

 

It really wouldn’t do to have Bill know he’d drifted off thinking of  _ him,  _ now would it?

 

There the Captain was, laughing again and holding his stomach, as if Dipper losing track of his thoughts was the funniest thing Bill had heard in years. Maybe he was just in a good mood today? He certainly seemed more… lively.

 

What was it Maryam had said once? The Captain went through cycles? Perhaps he was on the up and up today.

 

“Glad you’re thinking ahead there, Dipper. I’d get your things together quick as a whistle if I were you, we’ll all be down soon, and you don’t want to be the last one left alone on the ship. Who knows what might  _ come for you.”  _ The last three words were whispered in his ear, the Captain leaning in so close that Dipper could feel breath tickling his neck, and  _ god  _ that was a shiver running down his spine. 

 

He hoped the Captain didn’t notice, or if he did, he wrote it off as fear or as cold or as a ghost over his grave.  _ Anything  _ but the heat coiling in his stomach, the fire in his veins, the twitch in his fingers that had him yearning to reach out, to grab the captain by his hair and kiss him.

 

If he got shot for it, at least he’d die happy.

 

But he couldn’t do that, no, he  _ wouldn’t  _ do that. He and Bill were… acquaintances? Business partners? Something important. And the last thing he wanted was to be left for dead on this island he was meant to be mapping simply because he couldn’t control his sinful urges.

 

Pulling away sharply, Dipper laughed nervously and turned on his heel, “Y-yes, Captain! I’ll collect my things rightaway. See you on shore, around a fire or something, perhaps!”

 

And with that, Dipper was gone, running across the deck and beneath into the quarters to grab his rucksack. Alphie already made sure the larger supplies from the mapmaking office were brought down, it was just his personal effects he didn’t want to forget.

 

Such as the sketchbook filled with stolen drawings of the Captain. He couldn’t do with anyone else finding that.

 

And once again, Dipper’s swift feet had him missing an expression on the Captain’s face, missing the wistful smile Bill tossed after him, the fondness that lingered for just a moment before Bill shook it off and made his way down the gangplank to set up camp.

 

Since the day was young yet when everything was set, Dipper decided to begin his mapping as soon as possible. Bill said they could only linger a couple of days at most, and he wanted to make the best of that time. He could get rough outlines today, determine the basics of the lay of the land so that he’d know which parts needed the most attention tomorrow, and where he’d need to map before sundown, treacherous areas and cliffsides, if there were any.

 

Grabbing his sketchbook and his rucksack, pencils and charcoal and an ink well and quill all wrapped up inside, Dipper stopped by where Alphie and Dane were tossing stones into the water to tell them where he was going, in case he wasn’t back by sundown.

 

  
“Don’t you go fallin’ off a cliff, fella. Cap’n’d be real sad if ya did. ‘Specially if you lost the maps in the process,” Dane shoved at his shoulder, the older man giving his blessing before Dipper set off, but the words had a hint of a flush colouring the tops of his cheeks.

 

Was everyone set on flustering him today?

 

“I think he’d be more concerned with the maps than me. I’m just a mapmaker, after all. And I’ve seen the Captain’s work, he could do this on his own if I wasn’t around.” There, that was all, he just had to brush it off, as if Dane’s words were nothing more than the joke he intended them as. 

 

It was Alphie who weighed in this time, tossing his stone, “Nah. He’d miss ya, same as he’d miss any of us. You’re one of the crew, Dipper. And the Captain’s real good to us. He’d care.”

 

Dane nodded and they both turned back to their game, Dipper left staring with a little frown on his face and a strange weight in his chest. Of course, he shouldn’t have been overthinking things. If he really was part of the crew, naturally Bill would be upset to lose him. Ship crews worked like families out here, he’d already learnt that.

 

With a wave, he took off, not wanting to think of anything like that any longer. Better to just get lost in his work than dwell on what Cipher thought of him- or of anyone, really. 

 

Thankfully, his work was all-consuming once he began.

 

The island wasn’t particularly large, easily something you could see the entirety of in a day, but Dipper had to look at finer details than that. He decided to start with walking around the beach to get a rough outline before moving inland and making notes of the relative elevations, things to be drawn into more detail tomorrow after he’d rested and could devote an entire day to mapping.

 

By the end of his walk around the island, Dipper had a very strong outline done on two pages of his notebook, and several pages of notes following, along with annotations around the map itself. There was, for example, an alcove on the west side of the island that featured a small network of caves- Dipper already had pages devoted to mapping those out if he had time.

 

Tomorrow would be a fun day, but for now all he wanted to do was get washed off and relax, it had been quite a trek around the entire island.

 

Returning to his tarp, he put his rucksack down and tossed his tunic up over his head, the sweat causing the fabric to cling. He supposed he might as well wash his clothes while he was at it, who knew when he’d get another chance to do so.

 

Most people were already gathered around the beginnings of campfires when Dipper walked down to the beach, intent on washing the grime of nearly a month at sea with only washcloth bathing and scrubbing his clothes clean before joining them. He was certain there would be a place he could sit and take in the cameraderie without joining in the game.

 

He still had those drawings to do after all. 

 

Naturally, the fates were set on flustering him one last time before the moon was at its fullest.

 

As he walked down to the shore, he noticed that there was a single figure in the water, hands up above his head tying his hair up in a bun. And Dipper recognised that thick, dark, curly hair, coiled up atop the Captain’s head.

 

He should leave. Should come back later. Should just bathe tomorrow or something else.

 

But instead he waited at the threshold of beach and water. Bill was facing out to sea, standing entirely still as the waves washed up against him, wading just deep enough for the water to reach his waist, hands held out to his sides and skimming through the water.

 

He looked peaceful and Dipper didn’t want to interrupt that. 

 

And if nothing else, this would give more detail to his drawings. At this point, he was resigned to his secret sin, perhaps more detail would make it more satisfying, since he could never show the pictures to any eyes but his own.

 

The most stark detail that Dipper noticed as he stepped down closer to the shore and toed his way into the water was that Bill had tattoos. Or rather, one very large tattoo, perhaps. 

 

A single black vine started at the nape of Bill’s neck, just over his right shoulder before winding its way down his back and dipping beneath the water at his left hip. But that wasn’t the detail that really caught Dipper’s attention, no. What the cartographer was really entranced by were the lilies that bloomed off of that vine.

 

Seven lilies, that’s how many Dipper counted. Some were more faded than others, as if he’d gotten them with time in between. 

 

A dozen questions rose to mind at that, but none of them were anything Dipper wanted to put voice to. Did the tattoo mean something? If so, what? How long had Bill had it, were some parts really older than others?

 

But the only thing that escaped his mouth, serving as both compliment and greeting, was a simple sentence.

 

“The artist did a good job, on the tattoos.”

 

Bill turned to look over his shoulder at Dipper with a smirk, nodding, “Yes. I’m very pleased with the work. Though, it was a couple of artists, I got the flowers done at different ports.”

 

Taking his chance, Dipper decided to voice one question, since Bill seemed at least a little inclined to talk about the ink on his back, “What does it mean, exactly?”

 

And maybe he shouldn’t have asked, if the sorrow that colours Bill’s expression is any indicator. There’s an old sadness in honey hazel eyes, a melancholy tinge to the smile tugging at his lips, “Loss. A lily for every loss.”

 

Frowning, Dipper wished he hadn’t asked, but nodded nonetheless, stepping farther into the water until he was just behind and to the side of the Captain. Seven lilies meant seven losses- crew members, perhaps? Maybe the crew was a closer knit family than Dipper had even realised, if Bill took deaths that personally, “I’m sorry. Both for the loss and for bringing it up.”

 

Bill’s hand came out to the side, waving Dipper’s apology off as he looked up at the sky, pinks and oranges fading to blues and now that the sun was mostly below the horizon, “No need to apologise. It was a long time ago, and they deserve to be remembered.”

 

With that he fell into silence and Dipper felt obliged to join him, staring up at the sky and only glancing intermittently at the tattoos, more detailed up close, or the faint scars beneath them.

 

Lash marks. But that was something he certainly wouldn’t be asking about.

  
This silence was all he needed.


	11. As the Crow Flies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on the high seas, the Majaris Kisaiya resumes its journey towards Spain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm so so so sorry for how late this is. My mental health took a real downswing, combined with a course schedule last term that kicked my ass. But! All is better now and I'll be making much more regular updates because my courses are less demanding this term. That being said, welcome back to pirate hell~!

The rest of the time on the island was spent with a mixture of work and relaxation. Here and there, Dipper added a detail to his map- the little creek that trickled down from a spring in the middle of the island to the ocean, the little cliff-like outcropping of rocks. Things that might not have mattered in the long run, but that he knew Bill would appreciate. 

 

And the little smiles the Captain flashed him when he showed him the maps were enough payment for his extra effort.

 

Just as Dipper felt he knew the island, though, the crew was preparing to set sail again.

 

“We’ve got important business in Spain and then England after, can’t dally too long here. But, don’t worry,  _ chavo,  _ we’ve got it on the map now. We won’t have any trouble finding our way back, if need be,” Cipher’s grin was conspiratorial, a glint in honey-hazel hazel eyes that had warmth curling in Dipper’s stomach. 

 

“I suppose you’re right. Now that’s it’s on the map.”

 

Low laughs rang out in harmony at that as the Captain rolled the world map up, sealing it in its case and sling it over his shoulder to pack it along with everything else. Chocolate eyes followed the shorter man as he wandered up to his quarters, a little smile on his face.

 

So long did he stand there, he wasn’t shaken from his staring until a hip checked against his own, a low little laugh in his ear.

 

“Careful, hold that pose any longer and you’ll turn to stone,” the words caused Dipper to jump, looking over to see Maryam smirking on his left.

 

“H-huh?”

 

“Oh, nothing. Just sayin’ we’re gonna set sail soon, beanpole. Best get hopping.”

 

And with that she was gone, head tossed back and laughter tumbling past her lips as she sauntered off, Dipper trailing on her heels and stumbling over his words trying to explain himself to no avail.

 

* * *

 

 

The Captain was glad to be back on the high seas again. It wasn’t as if he disliked stopping- far from it, there was nothing Bill loved more than being able to add a new island to the map hanging in his quarters. There was just something much more  _ free  _ with being out on the water again, the wind whipping the front locks of his hair back from his face as he stared out onto the horizon, leaning against the wheel.

 

The sound of leather soles striking wood caught his ears, the steps light and quick, and Bill knew who was coming for him before the boy even came into sight. Certain of what was next, Bill turned on his heel, catching Alphie and lifting him up over his shoulder before the boy could tumble him into a hug.

 

“Ey! Cap, put me down!” The protests were made amidst giggles and kicks of his feet, which Bill made quick effort to avoid.

 

Spinning in a circle, the Captain let out a raucous laugh before setting Alphie back on his feet, the young man pausing a moment to find his footing before pouting up at Bill.

 

“What on god’s great Earth was that for, Captain? Just wanted to say hello, was all.”

 

“At that speed? You were comin’ to knock me off my feet and I  _ know it, chavo. _ Don’t go thinking you can pull the wool over  _ my  _ eyes. I’ve been playing this game a  _ lot  _ longer than you have,” There was no heat in Cipher’s tone, only fond indulgence as he leant over and ruffled Alphie’s hair, a smile still lingering on his face, “That being said, what news bring you that so begs your Captain’s fancy?”

 

Alphie’s mouth stayed pulled into its pout for a moment longer before he abandoned the facade, laughing bright and clear as bells, “Someday I’ll catch ya, Captain. On my life and my poker winnings!”

 

“Of which you have none, so your life alone, is it?”

 

Taking the little comment in stride, Alphie hopped up to sit on the deck’s railing, a grin on his face, “I think it’ll please you to know that the weather’s been quite good lately- good enough for us to see the edge of a rather large mass of land coming up to our northeast.”

 

“Is that right? Tell me then, nesting bird, how far as the crow flies to Spain, would you say?”

 

Brow furrowed in concentration, Alphie bit his lip, placing a hand on his chin. The Captain could almost see the gears turning in the boy’s eyes as he worked calculations- he didn’t keep Alphie in the crow’s nest without reason, after all. The boy had a good head on his shoulders, after all.

 

“A week, two at most if the weather is poor, but it looks to be staying quite fair! Very few clouds on the horizon.”

 

The Captain’s mouth stretched into a smile at the news, looking over his shoulder at the open sea, “That is good news indeed. You’ve told the rest of the crew, have you?”

 

“No, sir. Came  _ straight  _ to you!”

 

With a laugh, Bill reached over and ruffled Alphie’s hair again, shoving him lightly- not enough to throw off his balance, but enough to have him shifting to sit back up again, “Well, run on then. Go tell everyone else, I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear the news too. We’re making a much longer stop in Spain, after all, and there’s rewards involved for all. Go, go, spread the news my little bird.”

 

With a mock salute, Alphie slid off the rail, light on his feet down the ladder and across the ship’s main deck. Cipher watched from the railing as the boy’s feet carried him to every crew member he could find, the smile on his face visible even from this distance. Those he couldn’t reach with normal tones, he called to, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting to the men in the rigging before making his way down below decks, presumably to rouse those off-duty and rowing with his same, eager news.

 

One of the men on deck that Alphie had approached was Dipper- the mapmaker spent most of his time in the open air. Often he had his notebook with him, and Bill presumed the reason the man preferred the deck to his own quarters below was that with weather like this, it was certainly better to draw under the light of the sun than a flickering candle. 

 

More than once, he’d been curious about just what it was the cartographer was drawing, but never had he caught a glimpse of the little journal. Perhaps it was simply map notes, but this far from the island, Bill doubted it was that, and that doubt only made him more curious.

 

Honey hazel eyes caught sight of Dipper’s grin at Alphie’s news, the cartographer’s notebook already slammed shut- secrets, then, that’s what was in that notebook. If he couldn’t even bear that Alphie see it, it must contain some secrets indeed. 

 

Once the exchange was finished and Bill could no longer excuse his spying as watching his crew react to good news, the Captain set the wheel to coordinates and called Slim over to catch the wheel if anything changed their course. Patting the other man’s shoulder, he tossed him a smile before heading below decks, taking his hair down from its bun and plaiting it over his shoulder as he sat down at his desk, flipping open his own journal.

 

_ Very rarely am I curious…. I must say, Dipper Pines makes me  _ **_curious._ ** _ And the more I watch him, the deeper I slip… I know I cannot, I know I  _ **_must not,_ ** _ but my heart does not want to listen. It seems the fates must have one final laugh with me- my heart has not suffered enough loss until it has loved and had that love destroyed. _

 

A hiss and a sudden weight in his lap drew Bill out of his musing, Mora stretching out and settling herself across his thighs. The frown that had formed on the Captain’s face was wiped off, replaced by a little smile as he dropped the glass pen back in its ink, letting his hand fall to scratch behind her ears instead, petting over her back.

 

“Our time’s not quite up yet, is it, girl? We’ve got some time left together… Some time left for mistakes, some time for… new beginnings. Even if I know all will come to a terrible, horrible end. And you’ll have to see near all of it. But consider yourself lucky,  _ chavi.  _ You won’t have to drown with the rest of us.” 

 

Unaware of the words that washed over her ears, Mora let out a little meow before resettling herself, eyes closed as she curled up to sleep, contented on the warm pillow of the Captain’s legs.

 

One hand still occupied in petting her, Bill flipped through his notebook with the other, frowning as he reached the older pages. Bloodied, waterlogged, stained. 

 

“You won’t have to watch me cough water from my lungs and feel the burn of another decade of loss.”


	12. Land, Ho!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cipher goes ashore to gather news about the mainland's goings on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this took me months I know. I'm sorry. I don't know that I'll ever really be able to have a posting 'schedule' or anything but I'm trying not to totally abandon this. here's a chapter for the new year.

Seeing the mainland was always melancholic for the Captain. A home you could never return too, he was certain that was a saying in some language or culture. Deeper and more painful than nostalgia, that was certain.

 

But pleasant as well. He missed the mainland anytime he was away. Because long lost or not, it would always be home. Or the closest to home he would ever see, anyway. The chance of him ever returning to any place close to Istanbul was next to none- no need to open wounds over a century old.

 

He was shaken from his reverie by a shout from behind him, a smile falling into place on Bill’s face, though it didn’t quite touch his eyes. Dane was stepping up the ladder, arm raised in some semblance of a salute, which the captain couldn’t help but roll his eyes at- every member of the crew knew of his dislike for formal salutes in all but the most precarious places, yet seemed to find ways to toss them in anyway.

 

“Hail, Captain!” 

 

“Hail, Dane, come, do you have news for me? Or are you truly so bored with your job that you would prefer standing around with a crooked wretch instead?” A chuckle accompanied Bill’s words, carefully balanced and matching the light humour of his lips.

 

Now it was the other man’s turn to roll his eyes, the wry grin on his face tugging at the scar that marred his mouth and cheek, “I canno’ believe you just called yerself out for bein’ a crooked wretch. Cap’n, ye do know what kin’a operation yer runnin’, now doncha?”

 

_ That  _ drew a genuine laugh from the Captain, hand pressed to his stomach as he threw his head back, laughter pealing up from his chest like bells. A moment to gather himself and catch his breath with a mischievous glint in his eye before he responded, “Anything to keep up appearances, ey? We’ve got official business comin’ up soon, after all. Have to be all prim and proper when we go to visit our  _ kind  _ benefactors, now don’t I?”

 

“S’pose that’s fair enough. Though they won’t all show ye the same kindness, Cap’n,” A hand came up to clap Cipher’s shoulder, just hard enough to shake the Captain as Dane’s grin softened somewhat.

 

But the comment was nothing of a surprise. A hundred and thirty years of sneers and harsh words hadn’t hurt him yet, the next eternity wouldn’t either, “They know well to fear the Gypsy Devil, they can speak all the ill of me I want, I know they won’t dare to try anything  _ bold.  _ Lest they end up missing something of  _ value. _ ” The grin that tugged at Cipher’s lips was sinister, dripping with malice and mischief as it had often dripped with blood, far from the ‘prim and proper’ front he’d put up a moment before.

 

And with that little show, Bill caught Dane’s eye, prompting a cacophony of raucous laughter from the pair.

 

Once the laughter had subsided, Dane sobered up and crossed his arms over his chest, smiling, “We’ll be dockin’ in a couple of hours, thought I’d relieve ye of yer post so ye coul’ prepare. Captainly duties ‘n’ all.”

 

A glance behind him over the ship’s bow confirmed Dane’s words, the familiar cliffs were clearly visible, land closer than it had been in weeks. Nodding, Bill grabbed his hat from atop the ship’s wheel, settling it atop his head and tipping the front head to the physically older man, “Many thanks. I probably should look  _ somewhat  _ less of a cretin for docking. And I trust my beauty in your hands- though if you scratch her, I’ll have to hang you for beatin’ my wife, sailor.”

 

Cipher turned on his heel with that and made his way down, smirking at the ‘Aye, Captain!’ that followed after him.

  
  


The hustle and bustle of Cadiz was easy to get lost in. Even the buildings themselves seemed to boast of the city’s status as the oldest port in Spain, and the shouting of the docks was music to the Captain’s ears as he departed the ship, cloaked in his black coat.

 

They would be docking in Spain for a little over a week, two at the longest if the fair weather persisted. More than enough time for the crew to enjoy themselves while Cipher tied up his business. 

 

Leather boots clapped softly and swiftly against the wood of the pier, followed by the cobbled stones of the seaside street. He would find lodgings for the crew and then do some exploring- there was always something new on the mainland, some war ended and another begun, and Cipher liked to be on top of it all.

 

It was easy enough to find rooms- money talked, and Bill had no short supply of that. He handed the room keys off to Alphie, the crew could decide assignments amongst themselves, and promised to be back for dinner. Best to dine together the first night at port, to get the lay of the land.

 

Once that simple business was settled, the Captain was off again, dressed down in only his trousers and a pair of slacks, hat pulled down over his face. Wouldn’t do to have too many people catch sight of his face- some part of his stop here was a bit of a surprise, after all.

 

Swift feet took him to the town square- the easiest place to pick up anything one might need, information included. A few meandering rounds past the stalls, a stop here and there to overlook wares and make a purchase or two, a shared smile with an old woman who traded him a warm loaf of bread for a couple of silver coins. All enough show for him to pick up snippets of conversation, to hear a bit of the world as it passed with the Spanish he knew.

 

“-still at war with the New World?”

 

“Naturally, it’s unrealistic to think they wouldn’t be. All that land, lost? Not a chance.”

 

Bill hid his smirk in another bite of bread, seemed that England’s wars were still something he could capitalise on- marvelous, especially considering what he had next on his agenda. War was a terrible thing, but some men were destined to profit from it, and the Captain was one of them.

 

It was another conversation, though, that really caught his attention, enough for him to wander closer and examine a set of knives he knew he wouldn’t purchase in a thousand years. 

 

“The gypsies are camped at the edge of town, heard they’re setting up for some sort of festival. Just hope none of ‘em try anything while they’re here. Festivals and parties are fine, so long as they leave once they’re done.”

 

“Aye, it’ll be a shame to see the crime go up for the week, but at least we know they’ll be shoo’d away sooner or later. Law’s always on the good man’s side.”

 

The smirk faded into something closer to a grimace, a snarl. He didn’t want to hear  _ that  _ conversation any longer. 

 

Every time he returned to the mainland, it was with hope that perhaps, this time, his people would have been granted a home. That they would be at peace. That somewhere, a city would be kind enough to welcome them with open arms. And each time he was disappointed in his findings.

 

Sighing, he turned, listening for a different conversation. Something else to catch his interest while he finished his little meal. But his mind kept wandering back to the two men, still discussing the caravan on the outskirts of town.

 

It had been too long since he’d attended a festival. Decades. Longer than he liked to think about. But he couldn’t avoid them forever, and forever seemed to be how long he had on this world.

 

At least, by now, he could be certain that no one who knew him once yet drew breath. No mortal man could last a hundred years, and that was how long he’d been at sea. None could be left that knew his face back then, none that could recognise it now, unchanged save for a few scars and the tired circles of a man without sleep.

 

The longer he thought about it, the more tempting it seemed. Music, dancing, food, smiles abound and company. Young and old alike gossiping in the old language, laughter and song. And half of his job here was collecting information- no one knew worldly news as well as the caravans; moving around as often as they were forced to gave them a distinct lense of the world. In an hour amidst caravan gossip, Cipher could learn more than an entire day in town.

 

Finishing the last of his bread, the Captain set his mind to the task- when the festival lamps were lit, he would head down. Clad for once not in his coat and trousers, he could don something traditional and slip unnoticed into the crowd. Spend a night amidst his people, just one before he had to return to his fate. And the rest of the crew could enjoy the festivities too- Rromani festivals were a spectacle to behold.

  
It had been a long time since he’d had so much as a promise of such a pleasant evening.

**Author's Note:**

> if you've got any questions or anything, feel free to toss them to my tumblr: ilananight.tumblr.com


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